


Cinder-Ette

by RescueSatellite



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Blood warnings will be given before each chapter, Cinderella AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, It's super not bad at all, Promise, Reveal Fic, Romance, She’s the evil step mother, Slow Burn, The rating will not change, There will potentially be smut later, Tw: abusive parent, but it will be very later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 107,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RescueSatellite/pseuds/RescueSatellite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella AU. Marinette has been mistreated by her step siblings and mother since her father died, but now she can have a moment of reprieve. The king is throwing a ball to match his prince with a good lady, and there are many eligible girls. But the prince has his sights set, and he is not one to stray from a promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for so long! I'm so excited! AAAHHH!!!
> 
> Edit: 2000 hits! Thank you all so much for your support.

Marinette woke to the sounds of the rooster crowing. 

The loud, abrasive cawing shivered down her spine until she had to get up to feed him. As he screamed, she climbed up from her mattress on the dirty floor. Her back forever sore from the lumpy mattress, she stretched her arms over her head and rolled her shoulders. Even covered in old sheets, it was better than sleeping on the hard ground. She tugged her long raven hair into loose pigtails on either side of her head and grabbed the feed bag from the hook next to the barn-style door. 

The sun was barely coming over the horizon, but the harsh cries of the rooster pierced the silence anyway. Soft cricket chirrups filled the air with music. The horses in the open-faced barn swished their tails tiredly to fend off swarms of flies. Pigs and goats slept in the stalls next to them, grazing on the remnants of half-finished meals. The female pig, Betty, was pregnant and had developed an ever more ferocious appetite as her stomach grew. Their heifer needed to be milked. 

Marinette grabbed a large handful of grain from her bag and threw it across the floor. She smiled as a multitude of birds - large chickens, crows, tiny sparrows - flocked to the feed. A line of mice and squirrels joined the fray as well, nibbling on the pieces of wheat and corn. Their small feeding noises filled the void of the rooster's shouts. 

She watched the birds as the sun rose, feeling herself wake up as the rest of the world did. She had always loved watching the animals go about their business. The way they moved, the way they interacted, was so different from humans, and so much kinder. It was a peaceful trance she fell into, swaying with her heavy bag of grain and occasionally sprinkling more onto the ground. 

Until the bells started ringing. 

The tingling was more cutting than the rooster's caw, though it was softer than the cricket's chirping. She heard it almost in the back of her mind, but felt it calling her to work. 

The bells had been an old installation in her home. It was a historic place; in her family for generations until her father inherited it from his father. Her brother was supposed to receive it from him, but her mother died before they could have any more children. Her father remarried to a woman with two children. She was a rich lady, and Marinette knew that her father didn't want to marry, but for the fact that he wanted her taken care of when he was gone.

He left too quickly. Her step mother and step sisters were cruel to her, ringing the old bells that her father hated. He saw them as a reminder of a time of slavery, when the help was not respected, but treated with distain and inhumanity. 

When he died, her step mother started using them again, although there were no longer any other servants but Marinette. They had been an expense that was unnecessary. Her step mother, a frugal woman, only spent her money on lush gowns and furnishings for her home. The home that should have belonged to Marinette, but which her father had left to her step mother. 

She didn't hate her step mother. She didn't hate anyone. But she wished she were treated with more respect, like the part of the family she was. 

As she sliced berries for their breakfasts, Marinette listened to the music of the bells. Eventually, the town's bells chimed the hour, low tones surrounding the incessant tinkling. She finished the three breakfasts as quickly as possible, sneaking the squished berries into her mouth as her own reward to herself for a job well done. 

The water for tea boiled, adding another layer of whistling shrillness to the bells. She began to brew the tea and placed the personal pots on trays for her sisters and new mother. Balancing carefully, she stepped over the dog sleeping in the floor to the stairs.

This was the hardest part of her morning. The stairs were uneven and crumbling. Every day she almost tripped and spilled the trays. She made it to the door and bumped it open with a hip, entering the elaborate entry hallway. The sound of the bells faded away as she walked farther from the kitchen and her bedroom. 

She ascended the sloping staircase that led upstairs to the bedrooms. First was Sabrina. Her door was the easiest to open, so she didn't need both hands. Using her hip, she sat down on the door handle, turning it and pushing her way through the door. It creaked if you pushed it more than two feet open, and Sabrina hated the noise. Marinette caught it before it creaked and sat down the tray of breakfast on the chest at the foot of the king sized bed. 

She slowly exited the room, closing the door with her foot. There was no way to stop the creaking of the door as it closed, so Marinette closed it quickly and scurried away from the inevitable shouts. 

Chloe's room was the second largest in the house. The entrance was a set of double doors. The left one, the easier to open, leaked light straight onto her face. Marinette suggested moving the bed to a better position, but Chloe refused, saying it was just as easy for her to open the right door instead. Of course, it was not as easy, as the right door handle was a knob. 

Carefully, Marinette balanced both trays on one arm and quickly, skillfully opened the knobbed handle, pushing the door open before the contents of the trays scattered across the expensive carpets. She placed the tray down on the table opposite the vanity, near the window. The curtains were drawn tightly, as Chloe had to sleep with absolutely no light. 

Chloe, however, was not asleep. She sat up in her bed, tugging at the string to the bells in the kitchen. She stared straight at Marinette as she did it, glaring meanly. Marinette ignored her, quickly coming in and out of the giant room and on to the master bedroom.

The bed was custom made, a huge square that would have filled up half of the kitchens. But in this room, it seemed minute. The vanity across the room was twice the length of the bed and just touched either wall. Her closet was an entire room extending off of the back wall of the sleeping space. 

Madame Mendeleiev slept silently in her luxurious bed, only taking up an eighth of the space. 

Marinette drooled at the comfortable springs and constant support of the mattress. As she walked by to set the tray on Madame's bed side table, she dragged her fingers along the silk sheets. They felt like heaven under her fingers, softer than the feathers of a chick. 

How she wished she could sleep just one night on this beautiful bed, constantly in comfort. 

"What are you doing?" Madame's voice startled Marinette. 

She quickly drew her hand from the sheets to her chest. Her eyes were wide, she didn't know how to respond. 

"I was just... feeling."

"Keep your dirty hands off of my silks." She didn't say it harshly. It was matter of fact, but it somehow hurt worse. "You can touch them plenty when you are washing them, yes?"

Marinette bowed her head, bending slightly at the waist. "Yes, Madame."

Mendeleiev looked her up and down. Her sleepy eyes held such cruelty. They pierced through Marinette like they knew everything that she did. How she gave the birds extra feed during the winter, or spent extra time brushing the horses when she should be ironing dresses. 

She set a shaking tray down in the bedside table and stepped to the side. She was not to leave a room until Madame dismissed her. 

The eagle eyes turned away from her to the breakfast. Marinette had cleaned these plates especially well; they were spotless. The porridge was in a perfect mound in a bowl, surrounded by cream and topped in berries. She could see that her shaking had knocked one of the raspberries into the cream. 

A long finger reached out to the bowl of oatmeal and dipped into the cream. They fished around for the berry for a couple of seconds before catching it. Marinette held her breath, wondering what she was going to do with it. The last time her breakfast had been less than satisfactory, she had to scrub the entirety of the main hall. It took her hours, on top of her regular chores. Her back had never hurt more than when she was on her hands and knees, going at the grime that built up over weeks of use. 

Chloe and Sabrina had decided to go out in the garden at the same time she was scrubbing. They tracked in dirt all over the floor. When they saw Marinette's glowering they faked shocked sympathy, apologizing as they walked away. Then they realized they were going the wrong way several times and plastered dirt on the floor from the den to the ballroom and all the way up the stairs. Marinette had to pick out the dirt with tweezers until Mendeleiev was satisfied. 

So the girl was surprised when all Madame did was place the raspberry leisurely into her tongue. Sickeningly slowly, she bit into the ripe fruit. Marinette couldn't keep herself from watching as Madame chewed, her slightly wrinkled face stretching and contorting as her jaw moved.

"You may go." The words echoed through the empty room. 

Marinette shook herself from her slight daze and backed out of the room. She was not permitted to turn her back to Madame unless they had company. Once in the hallway, she released her breath. 

She went back to her normal duties, sweeping, mopping, drying the floors. Dusting every knickknack and picture in the entire down stairs. Milking the cow and goats. Starting meat for lunch and dinner. Washing clothes pushed down the laundry chutes. Doing Sabrina and Chloe's hair to their exact specifications. Fetching more face cream from the market for Madame and making it back in time to serve lunch.

She was just clipping weeds in the garden, the hot spring sun beating down on her back, when a messenger rode down the lane. The gate at the front of the property was a good eighth of a mile away from the entrance to the mansion. The grounds were immaculate - they were the only thing Madame saw fit to waste money on for staff. 

The grounds keepers were almost constantly on the grounds, watering and clipping. Marinette had made friends with them easily. A little kindness went a long way. A tray of cold water on a hot day. A wet towel to dab their sweating brows. She was generous to all, and gave all she had. 

The garden was Marinette's project. With fertilizer from the horses and cow, Marinette found a way to make seasonal fruits and vegetables grow huge and beautiful. These were the only things she never shared. These were hers. The bugs that pollinated the blossoms and worms that tilled the soil were hers. She never allowed the groundskeepers anywhere near her garden for fear they would trim a precious bud or stomp in the wrong place. 

The messenger who rode quickly toward her kicked up dirt on the gravely road. She stood and quickly wiped her hands on her apron, jogging slightly to meet the messenger at the mansion entrance. 

The man on the horse looked incredibly put together. His hair did not fly in the wind, he barely moved in his saddle. His horse's hair was pulled into tight knots adorned with golden cuffs that matched the rider's own collar and wrists. When he descended from the stallion, whose hide was richly white and pure, his boots refused to pick up dirt from the ground. He looked pristine. From his saddle bag he pulled a letter with a large red seal and golden tassel. 

He walked firmly toward the door, but Marinette stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello. Do you have a message for the Mendeleievs?" She smiled shyly and politely. The man's collar looked like large muffs on either side of his neck, and she hadn't noticed his spectacles until he looked to her.

It was like he had never seen a worker before, or never been addressed by one. 

To be fair, she looked rather in shambles. Her hair was pulled up and wrapped in spare cloth to protect the dark strands from attracting heat. Her ankle-length dress was not as dignified as the floor-length dresses her family were never seen without. Her smock also showed beaten and worn shoes with holes to expose the thickest socks she could find to fill the space between her feet and the over sized flats. 

They had been Chloe's, but they had gone out of fashion, so they had to be thrown away. Marinette fished them out of the trash to replace her old ones. These ones needed replacing soon.

All in all, dirt smattering and smeared across her swearing face, Marinette was a sight to behold, and not in a positive way. 

The messenger clicked his heels together and bowed low, handing the envelope to her. "For Madame Mendeleiev. A royal invitation."

"Royal?" Marinette took the folded letter in her hands. The dirt on her hands smudged the pure white of the paper and she wiped it away with a piece of her cloth. The red seal looked familiar now. It was indeed the royal seal. The paw print surrounded by a crown of gold was emblazoned on the messenger's chest as well. 

She smiled. 

"We've never gotten royal mail before." She was giddy as she opened it. The messenger straightened up and saw what she was doing, horrified. He reached out to take it from her, as if that would prevent her from breaking the delicate seal. He couldn't believe a servant was opening mail, let alone that bearing the royal mark. 

She looked up from what she was doing and pulled the letter out of his reach. She wasn't familiar with custom, apparently, but she continued to open it anyway. Madame Mendeleiev didn't approve of unopened mail. Marinette must weed out the useless information from the important documents. 

This appeared to be important indeed. The paper inside the envelope seemed to be made of gold and it felt of silk. The beautiful script was almost impossible to read, but Marinette managed. 

"A ball?" she addressed the messenger who stood uncomfortably at the top of the steps. He didn't like that a servant had opened the mail, especially of the royal variety. He also seemed shocked at her words.

"You can read?" 

Marinette smiled quizzically. "Yes- of course I can read." She remembered her clothing. "I am a lady." She raised her chin proudly. It was true, she was of higher station than her dress indicated. Her father had sworn himself to the king, and thus she was sworn as well. 

This didn't keep the messenger from choking back a laugh. 

"What?" Marinette's obliviousness was endearing.

"You're a lady?"

"Yes. My father owns this house."

"And yet you garden?" 

Marinette had enough of this. "I do garden. I happen to enjoy the feeling of dirt between my fingers and the taste of fresh strawberries on a hot day. What do you presume I should do with my time?" Her hip had cocked out to one side and she placed a fist firmly on it. Her stance was resilient and unwavering. 

The messenger straightened and sobered. "Pardon me, my lady. I just assumed-"

"It's fine, um...?"

"Sir Nino."

"Sir? And you're delivering messages? You don't seemed dressed for your station, do you?" Her tone was falsely serious, but inside she was giggling.

"My prince has requested I deliver these messages personally to every house in the surrounding lands." 

"I see." Marinette gave him a pointed smile. "See, I was unaware you were a knight because of your dress. Kind of like how you were confused of my station, yes?"

Nino couldn't keep from smiling. She was charming. She switched so quickly from soft to challenging, but never felt offensive, despite her wear. "Yes, I agree."

They shared several moments of laughter. "Thank you, Nino, for this message. I'll deliver it to Mad-" she cleared her throat and thought for a half second. "To mother. Have a pleasant day."

"And to you." He gave another bow, walked from the steps and leaped upon his horse. She gave him a polite wave as he rode away. She smiled at him and down to the letter in her hands.

A ball, she thought. How exciting. She would have to prepare herself, maybe borrow a dress from Chloe. They were roughly the same size, after all, and Marinette had nothing befitting a ball to wear. 

With a happy skip in her step, she wiped her feet off at the door and went inside. There was no use having more mud to clean up than she had to. She walked into the parlor off the ballroom, her soft feet echoing in the cavernous room. They never used this room, but it was always kept in immaculate shape.

Sabrina was humming along to a song plunked on the piano by Chloe. Sabrina had a good voice, but she never used it. Chloe had no idea what she was doing. Tune meant nothing to her as she prodded at the keyboard one note at a time. 

Marinette sometimes played in the dead of night when she couldn't sleep. Her father taught her, and though her fingers had grown longer and thinner, she remembered the feel of the pearly keys under her touch. As she walked across the room to Madame in the chaise lounge by the bookshelves, she tapped out her own tune on her leg.

"Madame, a letter arrived from the Palace." She bowed her head and extended her hand with the letter. 

Everything in the room halted. Chloe slammed her hands on the piano with a deafening clang and Sabrina squeaked shrilly. Madame ignored the unattractive noises and stared at Marinette. There was no movement for several seconds as everyone processed what had been said. 

Chloe was the first to move, diving over the piano to get her hands on the letter. Sabrina followed suit, fighting with Chloe loudly about who got to open it. Madame swiftly leaned forward and snatched the parcel from Marinette's hand, eyeing the girls into submission. They calmed immediately, but Chloe's breath still came frantically. She practically slobbered over the letter.

Madame inspected the letter. She played with the seal carefully and looked up at Marinette. 

"You opened it?"

"Of course, I always-"

"Why did you open it?"

She was taken aback. She was told specifically to sort through all mail to make sure everything was in order. "You told me to open all your let-"

"Not when it is a royal letter, you imbecile." The words were sharp and cool, they cut down to the core. Marinette retreated into herself and took several steps back as Madame inspected the letter some more. 

She read the message slowly, building the anticipation in the room. Chloe clung to Sabrina, nails sharp and cutting. Madame's eyes widened microscopically; she was notorious for barely giving away any emotions. 

Suddenly, she stood, straightening her dress. None of them had plans to leave the house that day, yet they all had full faces of make up and their corsets were pulled as tight as they would go. 

Marinette knew. She tightened them herself.

With a grand flourish, Madame closed the letter, tossed it on the chaise and clasped her long fingers together. 

"Ladies. The prince-" Chloe gasped in spite of herself. "Is having a ball." 

Chloe and Sabrina absorbed the information for a full second before breaking out into screams. They hopped up and down and waved their arms wildly. The delicate coils Marinette had so carefully pinned fell out in loose tendrils. 

She sighed. They would have her redo those later. 

Madame retained her excitement with a hand to her lips. She smiled very slightly, her lips twitching into a position they were unfamiliar with. Marinette smiled for her step sisters. She was excited as well, but she had never seen excitement expressed in such a fashion.

"Girls." A sharp warning silenced them. "Marinette," it had been a long time since her name had crossed Madame's lips. "Go into town and meet with Louis. Tell him we need dresses, the most glamorous and expensive he can create. Pink for Chloe, of course. Green for Sabrina. And purple for myself." She waved her hand in dismissal. 

Marinette took a shy step forward, drawn by her desire to be included. "And for me?" She touched her ragged dress self-consciously.

Madame gave her signature long glare. Chloe and Sabrina laughed at her sharply then whispered to each other. Madame cut them off with a look. "You?"

An eager nod. 

"My girl, why ever did you think you were going to the ball?" She didn't contain the slithering smile that crossed her face this time. The distain she had for Marinette was never hidden. 

"I'm a lady. My father was a lord, and that invitation is mine just as much as it is yours." She stood tall and proud. She shouldn't have. Madame didn't like to see a challenge, but she couldn't help herself. Her father had raised her to protect herself. 

"You are a maid." Madame spat the words, turning squarely to regard her subject. "You are a piece of filth, child. You are a dirty, good for nothing freeloader. If I didn't so kindly let you sleep in my house, you would be out on the streets and freezing to death."

"This is my house!" Marinette shouted. 

Chloe and Sabrina gave each other worried looks, then gazed back at Marinette like lions watching their prey trip and break a leg. 

Madame sat slowly back on the chaise, lounging back on the soft fabric. "This house was left to me by your father, and so it is mine. The only reason you are allowed to set foot on these grounds are by my good graces. I suggest you keep that in mind as you order our dresses." She crossed her legs over one another. With a wave, Marinette was dismissed.

This time, she didn't have a rebuttal. She tucked tail and slid from the room, stopping at the door as she was called again.

"Oh, and Marinette. You will walk to town. I believe that beast of yours needs a rest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Adrien and his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I only know how to write angst. I promise the next chapters will be lighter, I just needed to get the story set up.

The prince was constantly restless. 

With a father such as his, he had to remain on his toes in order to prevent the kingdom from falling into the constant pitfalls his father wanted to take it through. He made sure that every thought that passed his father's mind made it to him before it was spoken aloud. 

It was safer that way. 

His father was unstable.

It had been that way since the queen had died. She was the love of his life, and the King was completely devoted to her. Her birthdays were extravagant, week long events filled with music, laughter, and life. Her smile filled a room and whenever she spoke, the king gazed at her as if she held the secrets to eternal life in her words.

That had been the way of things until she had taken sick. It was sudden, but the sickness was unrelenting and violent. She turned nasty shades of green and purple and red; patches of rashes and bruises covered her skin at all times. Her cough brought up blood and spittle alike. Nothing could cool her fever. 

Physicians and wizards were called from every neighboring kingdom, the best in the world, to cure her. They came with salves, potions, spells, and wishful thinking, but nothing could save her. Once the coughing stopped, so did she. 

Adrien was brought to her bedside when they knew she was close to the end. His father was beside himself, completely hysterical and upsetting his mother, so he had to be escorted from the room. He had tried to insist on staying with her, tried to exert his power on the medicine specialists he had brought in at any expense, but the crying made him weak. He yelled at those who tried to take him from the room, and eventually was pulled from the large bed chamber.

So his son came into the room and took the chilled and feverish hand of his mother through a cloth. The doctors didn't know whether or not her sickness was contagious, so they had to be safe, especially where the life of the prince was concerned. 

He remembered the feel of soaked-through fabric. The handkerchief that separated them had quickly become absorbed with sweat. He didn't want to be reminded of her sickness, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw it written all over her face.

She was defeated. She was completely gone and she wasn't even dead yet.

But when she looked at him, and when she saw her son, her eyes came alive. 

She clasped her other hand over his, forgetting or perhaps not caring about the sickness that could spread to him. She pulled him close with new found strength, and stared deeply into his eyes. Her green eyes had become vibrant where they had been glazed over just seconds ago. Her breathing was hitched and staggering through her swollen lungs. None of her breaths were even, and she shook as she held his hand. She couldn't prop herself up from the pillows, so she settled for pulling him in closer. Somehow, despite the sickness that surrounded her like an aura, she remained beautiful and ageless. 

"Adrien." 

Her voice rasped and wheezed, but she sounded so familiar. Adrien held on to every moment he could, from the thinning blonde hair that was tied into a messy bun on top of her hair, to the bile-stained dressing gown made of the softest material they could find to not aggravate her sensitive skin. She smelled of sick and sweat, and beneath it like roses and rainfall. 

She smelled like the mother he loved. She smelled like the gentle woman who would kiss his tired forehead when he went to sleep and wake him early the next day to pick apples for breakfast. She smelled like the powerful queen who scolded him and her country alike for foul behavior. She smelled like the beautiful mother who would mend his scrapes, hold his hand, teach him lessons, and fix his clothes after he had ran around the throne room before an important diplomatic meeting. 

They both hated the stiff clothing that was mandatory at such meetings, though his father insisted upon upholding the tradition. The king tried to maintain composure when the queen pointed out a flaw in someone's logic, or an offensive way of thinking. 

Free spirited, he called her, and he loved every word she had to say. 

Though the king thought her words held miracles, they did not prevent her from coming to her death. 

"My lovely boy," she breathed, relieved to see him. She wiped a hand across his forehead, shifting the straggled locks away from his face as to look at him. He had not been sleeping, so racked with worry. His eyes bore darkened rings beneath them, and his skin had turned pale. His vibrant eyes stood out from pallid flesh like hers. In that moment, they were equals. "Oh, my boy."

She didn't seem to have much to say. Her eyes phased in and out of focus. Adrien didn't like the fact that he was scared. 

With a jolt, out of nowhere, she sat upright and pulled him even closer to her, placing both hands on either side of his face. One of the physicians in the room spoke up against the action, but she acted as if she couldn't hear him. Her hands were clammy against his cheeks. Her voice was rasped.

"My boy, remember what I have taught you. You must remember."

Adrien had no idea what she was talking about. How to pick apples from the orchards? How to dress himself and speak for himself? How to divide large numbers? 

"Do you understand?"

Adrien shook his head. He was unsettled by the glaring eyes that looked into his. She didn't appear to know what she was talking about, so overcome by sickness. He drew away from her as much as he could but her fingers pressed firmly into his cheeks, keeping him close. 

She opened her chapped lips to say something else. "You mustn't listen to your fa-"

It was then that the king came back into the room, rushing to her side. She seemed peeved by his entrance, like what she had to say that was not meant for his ears. She didn't acknowledge him, but kept staring at Adrien, holding his face so tightly now that it hurt.

"Adrien, look at me. You have to listen to me. You must remember what I have told you."

He shook his head again, and finally released himself from her grasp. Tears had been falling down his cheeks that reflected hers. She reached out to him, insistent that he heed her words.

He was terrified. He ran from the room.

"Adrien!" She called as loudly as she could. Her voice cracked on the sound, either from sickness or from her sobs. 

She must have told his father to come after him, because Adrien could not imagine another way to convince him to leave her side. Adrien ran quickly down halls and around corners, followed closely by his father's shouts and hollow footsteps. 

He had never forgiven himself for running. 

She had been gone an hour after he had left her side. 

His father never got to say goodbye to her, and he never forgave his son. The King's glances still held bitterness when the subject of the Queen came up. 

He loved his son more than anything in the world now, despite what he considered a betrayal. And Adrien loved his father, despite his hostile tendencies and ranting of power imbalance and plots to overturn the throne. 

There was not a coherent thought that ran through his father's head.

As he sat through another meeting of the counsellors, Adrien felt himself drifting off. 

His father was standing at the head of the table, ranting and shouting again at the tax master. The two were in constant dispute. The tax master had tried to persuade the King to raise taxes for the upcoming ball, but Adrien had convinced his father that the tax hike would make the people angry. 

Nobody likes having their money taken away, especially the poor who weren't invited. 

A thought came into his head. He raised his head from the support of his arm. The metaphorical wheels turned in his head, processing information, grinding it to bits and baking into a nice cake. A couple of adjustments to the plan was the icing on top. He decided to add some decorations, too. When he delivered it to the council, it was a beautiful sight.

He rose from his chair without a word and addressed the group of powerful men and women. 

Without waiting for his father to quit talking, he began.

"We are going to invite everyone in the kingdom. Men and women, from every class. It is high time we invited more than just lords and ladies to our balls."

The room stood still before him, his father had even stopped in his yelling to turn to his son. Adrien looked to each of the council members in turn. This was a good idea, he told himself, for a lot of reasons. He didn't expect them to understand immediately, to jump on his horse before he explained it fully, so he began. 

"The people are anxious. They are tired of paying for balls with their hard earned money. There are many who only see what the crown does for itself, and not what we do for them." He caught the eye of his father, who remained standing room where he was once screaming. "I know that we have kept our people safe for centuries as we have promised, but it is time we show them our appreciation for the state that this kingdom is in. It is because of them that we thrive. It is time we thank them for their hard wor-"

"Excuse me, Your Highness," started the Horse Master. She was once a beautiful lady, but had aged to grey with a wrinkled face that hid the youthfulness from long ago. "But what you are suggesting, it's..." She struggled for a word, looking to the other council members for support.

"It's ridiculous!" The tax master exclaimed. He was always one to speak his mind. Always one to think of himself first. If he didn't have such a mind for numbers and loyalty to the crown, Adrien would have tried to get rid of him. They never agreed on anything. "You are suggesting going against very tradition-"

"Our traditions include keeping our people happy and safe." Nino, head of the castle guard spoke up, finally. He was never one for speaking out against the council, but he saw his trusted prince struggling. He was sworn to protect the royal family in any way he could, and he took his job very seriously. "When the people are in a state of malcontent, they will become a danger to themselves."

"The people we can handle." The field marshal was a young woman, large in stature and strength. She had definitely proved herself over her years in the ranks, becoming the first woman to sit on the council, and the first woman to become general of the army by her late twenties. She had the scars to prove it. 

She and Nino worked closely together, never agreeing on any way to protect the kingdom. She usually opted for shows of power, while Nino suggested more subtle forms of control. When it came down to it, as the field marshal, she had the control over the barracks and the tactics of the army and armed security that patrolled the kingdom. Rules were strict for the people under her watch, especially with the King backing most, if not all, of her decisions. "We will have no trouble keeping them in order." She seemed to be flexing her muscles with her words, showing off the power she had over the room of powerful people. 

"We would not need to keep them in order if they were appeased before their discontent grows." Adrien was adamant about this plan. He only had to convince the council.

"Your Highness, you are suggesting that there is already a growing force ready to oppose the crown," The field marshal questioned. "Is there something we should know?"

Adrien closed his eyes in frustration. He had not expected this plan to go over easily, but he had not expected outright opposition. He realized with a glance to the king that he was beginning to sound like his father.

The Royal Majesty was prone to tantrums about the inevitable overthrow of the kingdom. Most of his policy was enacted to prevent such things from happening. Adrien didn't want to condone those thoughts, but the actions against crime benefitted the kingdom. However, the king's thoughts of uprising were reflected in Adrien's proposal. It wasn't going over well.

"No. There is no resistance that I am aware of. But at every turn we are trying to raise taxes, and we don't reward our people for being our people." He found himself reluctantly agreeing with one of his father's theories.

"They are rewarded in their protection and peaceful living." The tax master scoffed. He crossed his arms across his chest in active defiance. He had never liked Adrien. The feeling was mutual. "If that is not enough, move them to Ciennon and see how they like it." 

A chuckle rippled through the room. 

Ciennon was notorious for its people's rebellions, the untold count of the dead that eventually lead to the downfall of the entire kingdom. The history of Ciennon was short and bloody, mismanaged and terrible. The kingdom was used as a cautionary tale for misbehaving children. Be a bad child and go to Ciennon where they'll chop off your legs and make you work the mills.

Everyone laughed, Adrien noticed, but the King. He sat pensively, stroking his chin with a quirk in his brow. He was seriously considering this. He knew it would be good for the people. Adrien knew that his father saw sense, finally. 

"We are a peaceful kingdom, and we always have been. But when you are taxed without reprieve, you are unhappy. It is a simple fact of life." While he was addressing the room, he sculpted his words especially for his father. It was a careful and dangerous game he played. "I suggest we ease this inevitable unhappiness towards the crown and invite more than just lords and ladies. We have the room and we have the resources. This has never happened before in living memory, but I propose we start. Open our doors. There is never a negative side to keeping our people happy." The room muttered their disapproval, but no one spoke up loudly enough before Adrien moved on. 

"Father. What are your thoughts?"

Adrien eyed his father. Without realizing it, his fingers twiddled together, his thumbs racing back and forth. 

He held his breath as his father thought. 

One could see the way the king considered the possibility, the way his eyes shifted to every face in the room, finally landing on Adrien. The way he sighed deeply and closed his tired eyes. The way he straightened with a final stroke of his chin. The way he stood with his hands on the table, looking every bit the powerful, righteous king. Adrien prepared himself for the confirmation of his plan.

"It seems my son's naïveté has gotten the better of him." Adrien's breath hitched. "Not only can we not afford the addition of guests within the castle, but we cannot afford the ball as it stands. We will not invite any more than we already have. It simply is not practical." 

Sense. It made sense. That's why it hit the prince so hard. 

But how had it come out this way? It didn't come together in his mind, the puzzle pieces didn't fit.

If you wanted a peaceful kingdom, you needed happy citizens. 

"Andre," the king addressed the tax master. "We will increase all taxes by one percent this season to recover costs from the ball."

"What?" Adrien spoke out finally as Andre nodded in confirmation to his majesty. The shock had yet to completely settle over his body, so the word was little more than formed breath. His entire body heaved as he spoke.

The king looked sharply toward his son. 

The prince recovered himself and held his father's eye. "Father, you can't be serious?"

"I am, Adrien." He straightened and tucked his hands behind his back. 

Adrien had always feared this pose. The stern look that accompanied the puffed out chest and raised chin were always too firm and commanding. This was the stance he took when Adrien had accidentally broken a vase in the grande hall when he was eight. This was the stance he took when Adrien let a flock of chickens in the throne room during a council meeting when he was eleven and acting out. This was the stance he took when Adrien snuck out of the grounds to ride with Nino last month, tired of the stifling tradition and expectations of the young prince. This was the stance that Adrien knew to be afraid of. 

"And I expect you to respect and adhere to this decision, as you will be giving the declaration to announce it."

"What?" Adrien exclaimed. It was bad enough that the taxation would be put into effect at all, but that his own name would be signed to it. "Father! That is-" he struggled for words. "Unfair!" 

It sounded childish, the way the seventeen year old shouted in the nearly empty room. He hated the way his voice cracked beneath the word. The other council members sat back in their chairs, looking at each other nervously. Nino caught Adrien's eye and shook his head in warning. But it was too late for that now. It was not every day that the prince and the king got into a quarrel. When they did, the fallout was bound to be enormous. 

It was unwise for Adrien to speak out, but he felt he had to. For the sake of himself. For the sake of his people and his kingdom.

"Unfair?" The king chuckled harshly. "Adrien, this is not a game for you to complain about winning and losing. This is a kingdom that you must run one day. I expect more of you."

"You expect me to sit back and take it! I know what is best for my people!"

"Your people? Young man, this kingdom belongs to me until you are married. And you are to respect every one of my wishes until such a time as this happens. Do you understand?" The posture of the majesty had stiffened and hardened. His nostril twitched and the spectacles on the bridge of his nose bounced every time it did. His eyes had narrowed to small slits that he could barely see out of. His breathing came out in harsh puffs that were the only sounds in the still room. 

The entire world held still for that moment. No one dared make any movement, any noise. No one dared breathe for fear that the king would turn his sights on them. The servants at the edge of the room, ever silent, bowed their heads lower. The very air seemed to cower and tremble.

"Adrien. Do you understand?" His words were clipped and firm. Tension began to fill the room to the brim.

Adrien hated the way he spoke to him, like he was a child. As if the king ruled him like he did the kingdom. 

His father didn't have the control over him that he thought he did. Adrien refused to give himself completely to the tyrannical rule of the king. His mother expected better of him than that. 

Adrien changed his stance then, reflecting his father in every way. He raised his chin, pushed his chest out as far as he could manage. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared directly at his father, trying to keep the upset quiver from his voice. 

"This decision is a mistake."

The king would no longer have it. "No, Adrien!" he yelled at his son. The table rattled with the sudden explosion. A decanter nearly toppled over as the king broke his stance and smacked the table with all his strength. The entire room flinched. "This decision is what is necessary! You will give the declaration to the people on the morrow as it is written for you. That is final. This council meeting is dismissed."

With a sweeping of his hand, the table rose as one, quickly shuffling from the room. Servants exited as quietly as possible, rushing back through their private hallways to retrieve supplies to clean the council chambers. Any excuse to leave was enough. 

Adrien watched as the room empty within seconds, standing at the opposite end of the table as his father. The two remained staring at each other. 

The king bent over the table, his hands remaining where they had hit the table. Adrien kept his shaking hands behind his back and his chin firm. The room was completely empty before either spoke.

The older man straightened slowly with a new filter of tiredness and age falling over him. He ran a hand over his face, pressing fingers into his eyes and rubbing at his sharp cheekbones. 

When he spoke, a wizened old man revealed himself from under the guise of the powerful and commanding king. This was the side of his father that only Adrien had seen. It would never be shown to anyone else.

"I expect you to obey my orders from now on." 

That was all. That was all it took.

The king turned from his son and walked from the room, the padding of his feet and scraping of his cloak along the floor the only noises to come from him for the rest of the evening. 

Adrien held his position for another ten minutes before he let himself take a breath. A young serving boy came from the servant's entrance with a dish towel and began cleaning the table. He hadn't noticed the prince until Adrien turned from his spot and began walking toward the large double doors. 

The small boy gasped and retreated into himself. He clasped his hands in from of him and ducked his head. He was not one of Adrien's regular servers. The young boy would have known not to bow in such a way. The prince hated being addressed so formally. Any worker of his was allowed to speak freely, move freely, and be unencumbered by the regulations of the crown.

"I'm sorry, your highness," the young boy said, his words muffled by the severe angle of his neck as it pointed downward. He had backed himself against the wall, as far away from the prince as possible.

Adrien sighed at the young boy. He adjusted his tone to be as light as possible despite the heaviness that weighed on him. "You mustn't be sorry for doing your job, young man." The boy looked up at the prince, eyebrows cinched. 

The older of the boys smiled at the younger, trying to convince him of his sincerity. The child stared at the prince confusedly. Adrien sighed again. 

"You may resume your duties," the prince told the servant as he walked from the room. 

The castle was large. Every castle was large, but even among castles, the palace of Agres was large. The castle rested upon the top of a mountain, the avenue to its threshold more than two miles long. The grounds surrounding the palace took up the entirety of the small mountain. Gardens, barracks, courtyards, farms, walls, and rivers flowed through and around the grounds. It was in and of itself a small kingdom, but the lands surrounding it were also under the protection of the crown. 

The castle supported the life of over four thousand people, but the city surrounding the capital of the kingdom contained over fifty thousand. It was the bustling metropolis of the kingdom, with other cities ranging from twenty thousand to the smallest of two hundred. 

Adrien had visited them all as a child, on diplomatic trips to each of the houses. The names of lords and ladies and their houses and seals were childhood homework outside of reading and writing and mathematics. He had memorized thousands of people's names and faces, knew which houses they belonged to, and each of the house's mottos. He was proud of himself for knowing so much about his kingdom, and frustrated that he had so very little control over it.

He knew with some part of him that his father only wanted the best for his son and his lands, but Adrien could not comprehend why this was the way his father decided to go about it. He resigned himself to walking around the grounds. 

The rose garden, with its fragrant and rich smelling blooms was always a favorite of his. Within the literal labyrinth of hedges of roses ten feet high, there was a clearing that held a beautiful gazebo dripping with ivy and rose vines. The wood was barely visible anymore, so covered in green was the structure. 

He sat inside on the circular bench that surrounded the tree growing through the large platform of the gazebo. 

The roots had spiraled out from under the platform, creating a hard carpet covered in the leaves and fallen petals of the surrounding garden. The branches of the tree and the wood of the gazebo had mingled together to form a single structure that supported each other as they grew. The canopy of branches and leaves touched the hedges on all sides of the clearing, letting the barest amount of light through. Even at mid day, the clearing held a mystical quality that filled Adrien with a strange sense of belonging.

His mother had reminded him that this was how the kingdom worked. It was the gazebo and the structure that had to keep the tree in check and prevent it from growing too out of hand. But if the gazebo didn't give or flex around the growing of the tree, the structure would snap, and both the tree and the gazebo would suffer. The two must work together to grow and provide support, or neither would get anywhere. 

Adrien sat against the tree, its rough bark scrapping into his back. He loved feeling so close to something. Too often he was secluded and abandoned and left to his own devices. He felt the cool breeze rustling through the leaves of the tree above him and the labyrinthine arrangement of rose bushes surrounding him. The soft murmuring of the wind soothed him and calmed his still racing heart. 

The king has always been prone to outbursts, but Adrien barely remembered the last time they had a quarrel. Especially one as public as that.

He pressed his shoulders back into the bark of the tree and leaned his head against it. He looked up through the hole in the gazebo roof that allowed the tree to grow. Through the leaves and boughs, he could see the blue of the sky and white of the clouds. 

It was a peaceful trance he fell into, watching the occasional bird or squirrel pass through the tree on the wake of a gust of wind. 

Until the bells started ringing. 

The chiming of the hour called out across the city, waking Adrien from what would have been peaceful drowsiness. As the clock struck twelve, he remembered his duties. 

He was due elsewhere, despite how much he wanted to remain in the secluded clearing.

He stood slowly, stretched, and began the long trek back to the castle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette finds some self worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY CHILD DESERVES TO BE HAPPY

The walk into town was long. Almost an hour long. When one had a horse, the trip took less than ten minutes. 

Marinette had always loved the ride. Even when she rode with her father in carriages, she stuck her head out the window and let the low hanging branches tickle her face. The sun washed the entire road in light from sunrise to sunset. In autumn, the leaves were lit up in fantastical colors. Now, in spring, the blossoms sucked in all the light. The shedding blooms showered the ground in white petals that felt like carpets under Marinette's feet as she walked. 

After a half an hour, her feet started aching. She spent all day on her feet, mussing around in one room or another, or serving a step sibling. But as she walked, she had nothing to occupy her time like she normally did. The constant complaints about her work ethic and commands to get more tea kept her busy enough not to notice the deep ache from the soles of her feet to her knees. She wiped her hands across her dirty apron more times than she could count, picked at the fraying hem of her dress, and tried to ignore the aching across her body. How nice it would be to sit down and rest.

She was so tempted. It would be so easy to plop down on the ground for a couple of minutes, maybe shut her eyes. 

She tore the fantasy from her mind. Work had to be done, whether in town or at home. When she had finished this task, she would be assigned to the next one. There was no use thinking she could get out of her duties. With the never ending list of chores still to be done at home, she was not going to waste her time and have to clean until midnight or later.

Approaching a large hill she knew to hide a spectacular view of the city, she marched determinedly to the top. Half way through her calves started shaking, then her thighs. She felt sweat drip unkindly down her forehead and into her eye. Blinking didn't seem to help, but the equally salty tears washed the intrusive liquid from her vision. 

Her blinking finally removed the sweat when she reached the top of the hill. 

The sun was reaching tendrils of light through the bell tower which chimed the hour. The castle behind it stood regally tall, it's spires just touching the sun. The palace was on a hill taller than the one she stood on, the entire mountainous region its grounds. 

Gardens with flowers from across the lands grew there. An entire farm just for the palace. Legions of horses. Barracks. Homes for the servants of the king. It was its own kingdom in and of itself, surrounded by protective walls that hadn't seen battle in a thousand years.

This was a peaceful kingdom, as was evident by the smiles Marinette received when she made it to the market place. Strangers were kind here, until they weren't. 

Pick pockets and thieves were rare and swiftly dealt with by palace guard. Other acts of violence almost never occurred in the kingdom, and when they did, the penalties were cruel as the crimes. 

As she walked through the bustling market on the outskirts of town, she waved at many familiar faces. Closest to the farm lands, this is where farmers sold their vegetables, and Marinette frequented most stalls. She traded gold coins from her step mother for meat, grains, fruits, vegetables, and the occasional sweets for the step sisters. 

She traded her own harvest for food of her own. 

Marinette never had the heart to slaughter dinner. She much preferred to eat fresh produce from her garden. However, that was almost never enough to feed her, as the patch she was allowed was small and didn't yield much. So she ate what the sisters didn't and sent the scraps to the goats and pigs. Her meals were usually small, but she bought what else she needed. She didn't have much of an appetite anyway. There was far too much work to do.

Passing her favorite apple and orange farmer, she gave a wave.

"Good afternoon, Marinette. Where are you off to?" 

"Hello, Gregor. Madame needs dresses ordered for the ball." 

Gregor was puzzled. "Ball? What ball?"

Marinette stopped her advancement into town to continue this conversation. She was confused. "The king is having a ball. Have you not heard?" She was sure the announcement had been made already. If not, why had the invitations already been sent?

"I most certainly have not. Katelyn, have you heard of any ball?" He called to the wheat farmer across the way. The two were constantly flirting with each other in shouts, but their flirtation was benign. They both had spouses. They never talked outside of the market place, when they were firmly situated behind their stalls, crowds of people between them.

"A ball?" Katelyn looked up from the costumer she was filling a bag of grain for. The action was so routine she barely had to pay attention to what her hands were doing. 

It reminded Marinette of how she sewed. She made her own clothes so often and had to watch a full stove of cooking pans so often, she had to train herself to stitch by feeling. The fabric that she worked with was often frayed, having come from dresses te sisters had thrown away, so it made the work harder. Still, her hands were practiced just as Katelyn's.

Marinette called back to her. "We only just got the invitation ourselves. The prince sent a special messenger to deliver an invitation to every house." She waved politely back at them to dismiss herself. She had already taken too long getting there. Madame probably had something special in store for her after her outburst. 

Entering the cool shop, a bell rang above the door, tinkling through the large room. Louis' shop was filled to the brim with fabrics of all color and variety. A ladder stretched two persons high, not even reaching the top of the shelves of materials. So padded the walls were that sound barely moved through the cavernous shop. One had to tell to be heard from merely feet away. It fabric seemed to eat light as well, as the hall of materials of all kind became a whirlpool of darkness the farther back it went.

Sequins and jewels and lace covered two entire walls on either side of an aisle way, waiting to be picked out and sewn onto a gorgeous dress. These fabrics were Marinette's dream. What it would feel like to slip into a garment as soft as the silk Madame slept in. How luxurious would it be to find yourself encased in velvet or satin for an evening. Gossamer chiffon wrapping around you to create wonderful illusions of royalty and grace. Have people commenting about the gorgeous dress you found yourself in, and how it was made just for you.

Louis was the best seamster in the kingdom. He specialized in making people feel beautiful with his fabrics. He worked miracles in brocade and rayon. He wrote symphonies with organza and lace. He was renowned in the kingdom for working for the king. He used to work at the palace, creating the grande outfits for the queen until she died and the king removed everyone from his staff. 

The entire castle was empty for weeks. People said the prince made his own dinners for the king and himself. They slowly had to replace staff, but only those the king had specifically requested. The kingdom managed on its own for a while, but eventually riots swept across the unmonitored land. The prince had to force his father to rule, but people still claim the king is a puppet. Others knew the truth. 

The king was never the same after his wife died, and from that day forward, he was cruel to all but his son. He saw plots against the throne everywhere he looked. He was suspicious of a wry look. He barked at his own shadows. The only reason the kingdom had not fallen into chaos was the gentle guidance of the advisors and the prince himself, who seemed benevolent before all else. 

The king had not been seen since the death. 

In the shop, Louis looked very busy. The store was almost empty, but he ran quickly from shelf to shelf to desk and back again, order slips in his hands. He shouted to his assistant who sat behind the desk and scribbled furiously. Her hair was tousled and roughly pulled back into what was supposed to be a bun. 

She looked up at Marinette as the bell rang and yelled to Louis. "We've got another one."

Louis twirled around to her with a puff. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Of course, I forgot about Madame." This was how she was referred to out of hearing range. Just Madame. Most knew who you referred to, and those who didn't were quickly educated. Madame had made a name for herself as someone you never invited to tea. Her cruelty rivaled the king's. 

Madame ordered dresses every month, for her and her daughters. She certainly kept Louis in business, as his dresses usually took weeks to design and construct. Still, he was working on their latest order, the light summery dresses that weighed as much as Marinette.

"Ridiculous!" Louis said as he walked back across the shop to take a large book from the table. "The king throws a ball and only gives a week's warning." 

A week? Marinette thought. 

She hadn't had the chance to read the entire letter, but she had assumed the event would be later in the summer. A week was no time at all to throw such an extravagant ball, and Louis' scattered shop was proof of that. All dress shops in the kingdom would be crammed with orders. Madame was lucky she was such a regular, or Louis would have turned her away. There was no way he would be able to fill all the order slips he held in his hand in the time allotted. 

"A week. Damn. Alright," he turned to Marinette. "What do we want? Pink for Chloe, green for Sabrina, black for the devil herself?"

"I believe red would be more appropriate," the assistant chimed in without looking up from her scribbling. Marinette squirmed. Madame might read her mind later and know that she giggled at the bad joke.

"Of course!" Louis said with a flourish. "How foolish of me." He studied the book he had grabbed from the desk, running a nimble finger down a page of writing. His hand went to stroke his jaw, contemplating the writing. "Cancel the Williams' order and replace with the Mendeleiev's. They'll be angry but they like my company, so they will forgive me." 

"Right away," the assistant scribbled another note. A tendril of hair feel into her face that she didn't have time to brush away. 

He eyed Marinette. "I assume the hag isn't going to pay for yours?" 

She reeled. "Mine?" The laugh that emitted from her chest was too short to belong to her. Bitterness had built in her chest that she was unfamiliar with. "Was there ever a possibility that I was going to any ball?" 

She stroked her filthy dress contemplatively. She would like to believe she would have the chance to go to the castle, feel the soft fabrics that covered their furniture, see the portraits of past kings. Meet a prince. But there was never any chance. They were fanciful concoctions of a delusional mind. Her hopes were dashed as soon as they came into her mind. 

"It's a nice thought, but it would never happen."

Louis sighed. "What a tragedy. You have your father's cheekbones. How I would love to dress you up. See you out of those disgusting clothes; see the real beauty you have." He said this so nonchalantly as he flitted around the shop to pull fabrics. He retreated behind a shelf of fabric reels and made loud noises as something fell. He cursed briskly.

Marinette blushed. She had never considered herself to be beautiful, not even close. Her raven hair was unique in color, but that's where her positive views of herself ended. She was small and thin with the same dramatic cheekbones her father had. Her eyes were wide and blue like her mother's, her lashes long and lips full. She guessed she had the right features. But she had never been beautiful. A dirty face and years of hard labor had stripped the title away from her.

"You are too kind, Louis." 

"I am never kind enough to you, my darling." He returned from the recesses of his shop with a rich purple fabric that looked like midnight and a black lace that had the shape of flowers delicately embroidered throughout. 

"Here," he handed her the fabrics without ceremony.

She didn't know what to do with them. Was he giving these to her? Did he know how expensive this beautiful fabric was? Did he expect her to just take this? What would she do with it? He placed the fabric in her hands. 

"Louis, I can't." She started to hand them back.

"Oh, please. You have done so much for me over the years it is the least I can do. Remember when you saved my life?"

It was very far from saving his life. He was carrying a large box of buttons and tripped. She caught him before the box could scatter thousands of tiny metal bits across the floor. 

"And the cookies?" 

She brought him cookies every time she came to him. If she had warning, she would have made him some this time, but she had been caught off guard. 

"That barely makes up for this," she gestured to the gift. 

"You're right." The assistant spoke from her place behind the desk. 

Louis gave her a glare. 

"It doesn't." She handed Marinette a bag of sewing needles and string, along with buttons and eyelets and black chord. "Louis, if you are going to make a gesture, be sure to give her all the tools she might need." 

His expression softened. "Of course. How foolish of me."

The two stood next to each other and stared her down like parents expecting an apology. She looked back and forth between them, unsure how to respond. "I-" she tried to come up with an excuse. "I don't even know what I would do with these."

Louis laughed. "My darling, you have been making dresses for years." She had even made the one she was wearing. She had to, out of the scraps of other dresses the girls threw away, or she would never be clothed. "And you always have such innovative ideas. I would love to see what you can do with proper materials." 

Marinette smiled. She had always wanted to help Louis make a dress, or even make one herself. 

If she came in when he had a model out and he was struggling with a pin or stitch, she would suggest a new pleat or elegant sash to cover up minor mistakes. She even had ideas for entire dresses she had never seen before. A dress with a sophisticated cape draped to the floor, or sleeves that connected elegantly in the bustle. She had a keen eye for how to construct, especially after having to hem dresses for the girls, take them in or out, or stitch a rip. 

Recently, they had been overly exuberant about their corsets, and because of this she had to take in quite a few dresses of theirs. 

The small girl loved the feel of the fabric on her fingers, even the prick of the needle when she slipped. She loved sewing scraps together to make something presentable for her to wear. She had to make them so much different from their original state, or the sisters would notice the similarity and become angry. 

That had happened one too many times, after a sister had seen a button they found too familiar. 

They were quick to jealousy, those two. 

She hadn't realized that she wanted exactly this to happen. She wanted to have a dress and go to-

"Louis, how am I even going to get to the ball?" 

His assistant and he shared a look. They hadn't thought of that. Louis shrugged. "Wear comfortable shoes, darling."

She laughed. It would be just her luck to have to walk to the ball. She handed the fabric and bag of needles and string back. 

"It's a nice fantasy, but it will never happen." 

The assistant walked back to her desk with a huffing sigh. Louis glared at Marinette. 

"My love, make yourself a dress. Don't think about the ball. Just put it on when you are feeling down and it will lift your spirits. A good, fitted dress always makes a girl feel better." His gentle smile was unlike him. He was always cracking witty jokes or self deprecating. He had a flare for the dramatic, not the sincere. Sympathy wasn't his style. 

Marinette looked again at the materials in her hands. The rich purple fabric felt right in her hands, like petals of flowers in a sheet one could wrap around themselves. 

"Just a dress," she confirmed.

Louis smiled and pumped a fist in victory. "Just a dress." 

"No ball."

"Don't give up just yet." 

"Louis."

"Fine," he put his hands up in surrender and walked back to his desk where he shared a triumphant smile with his assistant. He resumed his work, picking up the large order book and scribbling a note. He set it down and walked back into the stacks while Marientte contemplated her next days.

She turned to leave. "Madame wants purple," she told him over her shoulder.

"Of course she does. It's a ball, isn't it?" 

Marinette hadn't even realized Madame had chosen a royal color. She didn't realize that Louis had handed her one either. She was just about to make a comment on it when Louis disappeared into the back of the shop again.

"Enjoy your new dress, Marinette!" he called knowingly.

His assistant gave her a small wave on her way out. She returned it with a smile. Such generous kindness felt new and strange to her. It wasn't familiar, but it was welcome. 

On the streets again, people were now talking about the ball. News spread fast in the market place. It was likely Gregor's yelling that caused people to start chattering. He liked to yell. 

Marinette started walking back home slowly, forgetting about the hurt in her feet. She found herself excited at the prospect of making a dress. She had no idea where to start. Louis had cut patterns in front of her before, but she didn't have any patterns in mind. She didn't know what pieces she would need. 

It probably wouldn't work, the dress. It was nice to hope. Always nice, but never realistic. 

She sighed as she walked. The trip back was just as long, but at least it was mostly down hill.

When she made it home, she went immediately to hide the fabric. She went though the servant's entrance into the kitchen from the yard. 

One of the bells was ringing, from the parlor, shaking her from her dire fantasies of dashed hopes.

Quickly, Marinette set a pot of tea and looked for a place to hide the materials. It wasn't like Madame made a habit of coming to the kitchens, but she couldn't take a chance. 

Things as precious as this felt like they needed to be hidden. 

Under her mattress, maybe? It would certainly make sleeping easier, but the floor was far too dirty to place such delicate fabric on. The ice box, it wasn't yet summer, and they hadn't as of yet had a use for the big chest. 

Marinette opened the box. It was crawling with cobwebs and spiders. She closed it quickly. She would have to clean that later, but for now it wouldn't do. 

She glanced around the room. The bell rang again, right by her ear. She glared at it, and it rang once more, as if just to spite her. Frustrated, she threw the materials onto her mattress to deal with later. The pot of water was boiling and the sisters would be anxious by this time. 

The sun was just at the horizon, the perfect time for soothing tea to knock them out into early sleep. Marinette brewed them chamomile with honey, set it on a tray, and walked up the crumbling steps. 

One foot slipped at the top, sending a piece of gravel skittering down the stairs. She nearly dropped the tray, spilling hot tea all over her. Managing to right herself, she pushed open the door with a slightly pounding heart. 

Sabrina was at the piano this time. Her fingers were far more nimble than Chloe's, dancing across the keys and making something resembling music. She was getting better, admittedly. She used to only be able to pluck at keys like Chloe did, but now she could find middle C without looking. That didn't stop her playing from being choppy though. 

Chloe found it hard to follow her on the flute as Sabrina started and stopped, checking the notes on the sheet then the placement of her hands and back again. 

Marinette set down the tea and cookies as they ended their song with a shuttering held note. Chloe blew as long as she could on the flute, but came to a sputtering halt a half note away from the end of the tune.

Madame wasn't none too pleased. "Again," she stated as she smeared a biscuit with butter and jam. 

They began immediately, never ones to disappoint. 

Madame addressed Marinette without looking at her, instead browsing a novel she had taken from father's study. It was Marinette's favorite, The Traveler's Song, and Madame knew it. The young girl hated when the older woman touched what were once her father's things, even though she would never admit it. Her clenched fists were enough to indicate her distaste. 

"After you have finished your chores, you are to prepare the spare bedrooms. The king has invited every eligible lady from even the neighboring kingdoms. The cousins will be staying with us."

Marinette held back a groan. 

The cousins were horrendous. They were loud and brooding, constantly shouting over the table and chewing with their mouths open. They snorted when they laughed and overall smelled unappealing. Their shoes somehow tracked dirt all the way from the front door to the parlor and they had the nerve to complain about their own mess to Marinette. She once had to mop behind them as they walked.

If Madame was subtly cruel to her young step daughter, the cousins made their distaste known. They complained about everything she did, from the scrapped-together dresses to worn shoes to messy hair - all things that would be fixed by some care from Madame. They whined about the way she poured their tea and carried their laundry baskets from their rooms in the morning. Apparently it wasn't dignified to carry a basket of soiled cloth on one's hip. Marinette had to check every move she made to prevent them from squawking at her in shrill voices. 

But the lady of the house loved the cousins. She loved seeing them mistreat Marinette in ever more creative ways. Despite their generally rowdy behavior, their attitudes towards the help made them angels in Madame's eyes. 

Marinette bowed her head and exited from the room backwards, never turning her back to Madame. It was self preservation in several ways.

In her room, Marinette decided what she could do with the fabric. She brewed herself some tea and sat chewing on biscuits as she studied the fabric. 

The lace felt like magic on her fingers, crocheted so tightly, without a flaw. The midnight cloth was soft as week old chicks but as sturdy as her hands were strong. She pulled the fabric this way and that, finding it stretched in one direction. She reminded herself of everything she knew what to do with fabric. 

Her head swam with possibilities. 

Purple fabric was such a rarity outside of the palace in the first place, but now she possessed the perfect material and she could do so many things with it. She would look like royalty herself. She would float down the grande halls with a dress long enough to hide tattered shoes.

She didn't have a petticoat or corset. Maybe she could take one from the laundry of the sisters. It would only be a week, she convinced herself, then remembered that that time frame based itself around the ball. 

She wasn't going to the ball. She was just making herself a dress. 

She scrapped the idea of a corset or petticoat. It was unrealistic anyway. The design would have to be simpler than that, then. She remembered some modern dresses she saw in a catalogue Madame read daily. Marinette treasured the pictures of glamorous portraits of women in equally put-together dresses.

Instead of the exaggerated skirts, they fell in softer patterns, complimenting the body of the wearer. The material flowed through and around and down their bodies, hugging curves in risqué ways. She didn't know if she was comfortable with the idea of such a slim design, but without any undergarments, it would have to do. 

She had a lot of fabric to deal with.

She took the time to sweep and mop the floor, letting it dry before pulling the fabric across the floor. 

The dog came up to her and snuggled into her leg. He had been in the family since her mother died, almost ten years ago. He was old, but still in good shape. He could run and jump, but he preferred to lay down next to Marinette while she slept. His warmth was always welcome on cold nights. 

She unrolled the luxurious fabric and planned. She had so much, she could make several mistakes and have some left over to replace it. Even if she didn't, she was good at improvising. She would make it work. 

At the end of the night, while she worked on the spare bedrooms, she thought of the dress. She would clean herself up, perhaps give herself a bath. She would do her hair, 'borrow' makeup from the sisters. She would see the beauty that Louis saw. 

It was about time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien is a socialist.

The king had a proclamation written out especially for the prince to deliver. It would be announced this morning that the dates of the ball would be extended, the taxes would be raised, and that no extra guests would be invited to the celebration. 

Adrien was still bitter about his father's decision. His skin crawled at the fact that he would be announcing a proposal that he didn't believe in. It was out of character for such a decision to be made, especially when Adrien though he made such a firm case. 

Everything the prince had said made sense. All of the points he had made had their merits. He knew that the people would take his side if it were up to him. 

But he had to be fair. 

Equally, on the other side... The king's choice made sense too. 

Raising taxes was how it was always done. Adrien didn't like it; in fact, he hated raising taxes on his people. Tax cuts have barely ever been made by the crown. The amount people have paid over the years has slowly increased, ever demanding. If anything, Adrien wanted to lessen the burden that the crown had on its subjects. It was a discussion that he had had many times with his father. It was a debate neither had never been satisfied with. 

But the ball, Adrien thought. He hadn't expected such opposition. Why not invite more people? Why not ask those subjects who were so peaceful to engage in merriment with their neighbors? 

Why not at least ask them?

The ball was for Adrien, after all. He was to find a suitable bride before his eighteenth birthday. His father wanted him to marry a princess from another kingdom, so secure the peace within the realm. 

But the deal had been made. One year to find a match who was a suitable substitute for a princess, and who met the king's requirements. One year in which the king had kept him as busy as possible in order to prevent his marriage. One year to distract him from very thing but his duties. One year to plan a ball so that the king made it seem like the prince had a fair chance. 

Three nights, they agreed on. It was enough for the prince to make his appearances and to meet as many ladies as he could. Not enough time, the king knew, as did the prince, to meet all of them. Not enough time to get to know them. Not enough time to fall in love.

That's what the king was counting on. He would keep the prince as busy as possible and prevent him from meeting those that might stand a chance against the king's strict expectations. Hopefully, he could keep his son so distracted that he wouldn't be able to meet anyone. Or he could insist he met absolutely everyone, then he wouldn't have time to learn any names. 

Any way to keep him from marrying for love. It only ends in heart break. He didn't want that for his son. 

The king loved his son. He was the closest thing he had to a reminder of his wife. The same green eyes, the same golden hair, the same lips and nose. The same laugh and smile. The prince was the spitting image of his mother, a constant reminder of what was lost. 

It was painful every day to remember what had been taken from him. The love of his life, the strongest force in the kingdom. She was the lifeblood of the castle and the whole of the realm. Where the king was weak, she was strong. Where he was strong, she was stronger. She kept him together, kept everything together. 

Looking at his son, with that same power, that same heart... 

That hurt. 

He knew how these things ended. He needed to protect his own. 

He saw the way love tortured people. His love had been stripped from him in the cruelest way imaginable, and he simply wouldn't allow the same thing to happen to his only child. He would rather a diplomatic solution would come about, so the prince could live his life normally, with a wife and queen, but without the constant threat of a broken heart. It was the only way the king knew to save his line. 

Adrien was training at the barracks the morning if the proclamation. The prince enjoyed spending his mornings among the men and women who protected his people. He usually woke up early to go and spar with others in the army. Well, it wasn't much of an army. Agres was a peaceful kingdom, never seeing much war. 

The last battle had been fifty years ago. It lasted twenty minutes, between an angry drunken farmer and a group of soldiers. She had a torch and a pitchfork and waved it back and forth in their faces, yelling and setting a hay bale on fire. The only damage was a couple of scratches on her face when a rock she threw deflected off of the mask of a soldier and hit her as it ricocheted. She had become even angrier, but knew that it was time to give in. The farmer was arrested and taken to the cells for a night, then released the next morning.

Still, the small standing army trained. It was a good source of income for a lot of families. They sent their children to the castle and if they chose, half of the income went back to the families. 

It wasn't a hard life to lead, in the barracks. There was decent food and lots of company. The generals never expected anything outrageous. They woke at dawn, to bed at dusk. It was a normal day of work, even easier than many in the kingdom. 

Farmers had to work longer hours, as did servants and maids. By comparison, the army was a comfortable profession, at least in Agres. 

Adrien trained with them often. Fencing was his forte, but he enjoyed wrestling. He was new to the game, so his craft was not the best. It didn't matter though. It was fun. 

None of his soldiers held back, which he appreciated. He lost almost every match he entered, but he was getting better. He had pinned someone the week before. It was a proud moment for him.

But with fencing, he was a master. With a foil in hand, he could do untold damage. His reflexes were lightning quick, fast as the cat symbolized on his family crest. None of his opponents thus far had stood up to him.

They had come close, mind you, but they never could get past the expert handling that Adrien had over his foil. 

His quickest match was under three seconds. Three seconds and his opponent was on the floor, with three points for Adrien. 

He knew the sword was a more efficient weapon, but he preferred the foil. He never looked to do damage. He only wanted to spar, to test himself and have fun. It was a small sliver of his life where he got to enjoy himself. He relished the time he got out in the fields of the barracks. 

The morning of the announcement, Adrien was dueling Nino. His partner was very good, and getting better, but had never managed to defeat Adrien. With his swift swipes and dodges, he was quite a force to be reckoned with.

Except that morning. Nino had five points on him within minutes. 

Half way through their match, Adrien had to sit down.

He walked past the other duos going at each other, watching quietly as one got a point and the other grunted in disappointment. Beyond the fencing ground were archery ranges. He could hear the thud of snapping bows and arrows hitting home. The clanging of metal on metal would be comforting had Adrien been in the mood. He thought he had been. He thought dueling out his frustrations would help, but now he felt drained. His mind was preoccupied and muddled.

He sat heavily on a bench at the side of the training grounds. He tore the mesh mask from his face and threw it beside him with a sigh. He undid the thick gloves on his hands and laid them together next to his helmet. Hands exposed, he ran them through his hair, disrupting the formation of helmet hair. He rubbed his eyes and listened for a moment at the clashing of weapons around him. 

Nino walked with him to the benches and watch as he removed his gear, taking off his own mask. "What's the matter, Adrien?" 

The prince looked up through his fingers. "Do I really have to say it?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Okay, good." Nino came and sat down opposite the gear Adrien had taken off. A slight sheen of swear covered them both. They shone in the rosy morning light. 

The kingdom below looked sleepy and golden. Adrien loved looking out over his kingdom in the mornings. As the northern most point in the kingdom, the castle faced south, always awash in light whether it be morning or afternoon. But during the early hours, when the sun cast long shadows over the trees in the forest to east all the way to the river in the west that separated the older city from the more modern establishments across the bridge.

When the capitol's population had outgrown its available capacity, they had expanded across the water. There was more farm land over there, and they were finally able to expand past thirty thousand people. Still, the number slowly rises. 

The entirety of the city shimmered just then. Overlooking what would soon be his kingdom, Adrien was beyond proud of his inheritance. He wanted to do right by it. 

Them. 

Everything.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"About your declaration or like your life in general?"

"The declaration." Adrien thought for a second. "Both."

Nino chuckled softly. Adrien shot him a look. 

"My pain is not funny."

His friend shook his head, but a smile still lingered on his lips. "You're right. It's not. But you're stronger than you think you are. And-" Nino struggled on the word. "Smarter."

Adrien faked a schoolgirl sigh. He covered his o-shaped mouth with the tips of his fingers and widened his eyes as far as they would go. 

"For an idiot." 

"Well, I think I'm pretty smart. So if I'm smarter than I think I am, then-"

"You're still an idiot."

Adrien lightly punched his friend's arm. "I could have you arrested."

Nino returned the punch, harder. "I'd like to see you try." 

Adrien rubbed his arm. It was hard to be upset around Nino. The boy had a way of making people feel better. His smile was infectious, his laugh even more so. He loved cracking jokes, making other people feel good. He was a good friend to have, Adrien had decided long ago. 

Nino thought the same way. Not just because Adrien would be the king someday, but because he was a genuinely kind person. Confused, obviously. Distracted, sometimes. But decent and good. 

The two were generous with each other and caring. They talked with each other, acting as the other's confidants. It was difficult for someone of high station to find someone you trust completely, but Adrien had found that in Nino. They were comfortable, effortless. 

Adrien rubbed his arm again. "That hurt, you know."

"Good." Nino smiled at his friend. 

The bells started ringing. They chimed the hour of seven. In another hour, Adrien would be giving an address to the capitol that would be recorded and passed on to the entirety of the kingdom. 

Adrien and Nino have each other a look. It was time for the prince to start preparing himself. 

He ordered a bowl of hot water to his chambers and quickly rubbed the sweat and dirt from his body. His arm actually had a slight bruise forming where Nino had punched him. Adrien smiled despite himself. 

His handmaids came in to help him change. The decorative armor was traditional garb for a royal declaration. Almost every piece of clothing he wore bore the house seal. On his shoulders, the crown on his head, the heavy chains around his neck, the buttons on his surcoat and at his wrists. The crisp white was inlaid with gold and deep green embroidery, the colors of the house. He insisted on plain white pants, though. On the podium, they wouldn't even be seen. And besides, who needed embroidered pants when the rest of your outfit is completely wrapped in gold.

His servants chuckled as he made the comment. "It's a fashion faux pas, honestly." More chuckles. 

Adrien enjoyed the company of his handmaids. He made sure that none of them were too formal around him. The stuffy air of the castle was too harsh for him. His chambers were one of the only places where he refused to give in to traditions and royal expectation. 

As he prepared for the upcoming speech he must give, he ran the words over in his mind. They had been written out for him, and he had read them over hundreds of times. He had memorized them practically, but they still felt wrong. He felt like he was betraying his people. He felt like he had made a promise to them despite the fact that he had never spoken the idea aloud outside of the council chambers. His own staff didn't know about his plan. 

He wanted to tell them, but he felt that would be cruel. Their families would have been invited. They would have been invited. Working the event would be in a volunteer basis. It would be a great opportunity for the kingdom, for his people. 

But it wasn't going to happen. 

Adrien ran through the speech over and over in his mind. He would have the paper symbolically, though he didn't need it. It felt good to have it in his hands, like a reminder, even though the reminder was soaking in disappointment. It felt like solidarity. 

The walk to the main outlook of the castle was a long one. There was one grande staircase that lead to the viewing platform with large flags in either side, emblazoned with black paw prints on green fabric and golden embroidery. It was a beautiful symbol, the cat being both protective and calm. 

The opulent decorations of the platform were minor compared to those on the inside. There was a delicate balance between showiness and true luxury that the crown had to portray. Too showy, and the people would become angry at the richness they took no part in. Not enough luxury, and the people would not look up to the power of the crown. 

Adrien hated the dichotomy. He understood the hierarchy of wealth and power, he just didn't find it fair to those at the bottom who were given so little for their work. 

He had so many ideas about how to change his country. Nothing huge, just subtle changes to make life easier. Little tweaks to make sure everyone was living the decent life they deserved. 

When the bells chimed the hour, he would step onto the platform and deliver his address. It was early for a Sunday morning, but with the ball beginning that coming Friday, there were many details that must be prepared. There was so much to do. He waited silently behind curtains that hid the large crowd bound to be forming below. 

Declarations were common in the kingdom, but they very sparsely came from the prince himself. The biweekly speeches about the affairs of the kingdom were usually filled with people waiting. The courtyard below the castle was a tough spot to get to, being so far from town, but no doubt it would be filled to the brim, spilling out into the avenues off the main courtyard. 

Adrien could just make out the dull roar of the crowd behind the thick curtains. He played with the paper in his hands, ripping the edges into frayed strips. The words of the speech ran through his head, swirling into messy patterns he could barely keep track of. He read through the speech in his hands again, trying to get them straight again. But when he opened the ripped parchment in his hands, the bells started chiming. 

They were his worst enemy. He hated their loud clanging, hollow ringing throughout the city. They always told him exactly what to do and where to be. He was always running around. He never had a second to himself that wasn't surrounded by other people taking up his time and attention. 

When the eight chimes had rung across the city, the trumpets began playing. The royal anthem shouted from just beyond the curtains, played by ceremonial instrumentalists with stiff backs and stiffer clothes. All their hair was parted the same way and slicked sharply into a neat pattern. Adrien appreciated the aesthetic, but the result was far too controlled for him. 

When the anthem stopped, he took a step closer to the curtain, waiting for his announcement. If a member of the royal family were ever to make a speech, they were to be announced. It was another layer of tradition and ceremony whose use was lost on Adrien. The longer he waited, the more anxious he got. 

"...Prince Adrien Agreste!" he heard his name being called through the curtains. The were pulled apart delicately by two more ceremonial additions, and Adrien walked out, forcing himself to ignore them. 

Kings didn't acknowledge the help, his father always told him. And at that moment, he was a king. 

He stepped, squinting, into the beautiful morning light to the cheers of hundreds of people. He was right, the courtyard below was absolutely packed with people. At the front, they craned their necks to get a good look. In the back, they waved flags of the kingdom in expressions of patriotism. 

Adrien smiled at them. He loved them. He raised one hand to wave at them, which was accompanied by a loud roaring cheer. 

He couldn't help but smile. This wasn't his first proclamation, but it still felt new. 

He walked to the large podium emblazoned with a golden paw print to set down the paper in his hands. Each of the claw marks were large diamonds, which sparkled into the crowd. 

The sun shone straight at Adrien, and he let himself readjust himself to the light before he waved again. Another cheer accompanied his wave. Another proud smile.

After roughly a minute of the celebration of his arrival, Adrien motioned for the crowd to silence itself. He unfolded the paper in front of him and cleared his throat. He had to speak loudly to be heard. It was a large courtyard, after all.

"My people," he started. Something caught in his throat and he cleared it, bringing a fist up to his mouth. He coughed a couple of times and began again. "My people, my subjects. My friends." He added the latter address. Formality was not his virtue. "We live in a time of prosperity and peace. Never before has a kingdom been so long without war, famine, or plague. Never before has there been such a long period of harmony and nonviolence within a kingdom as large as ours. This calls for celebration." 

He read the prepared words. They swam on the page. Letters blended into each other and created words he knew for a fact weren't written there. The crowd below him muttered happily in response to his words. 

Celebrations caused huge influxes of revenue within the marketplaces. People from all across the kingdom came and bought produce and products from those in the market place. All their wares would be sold quickly, just like the last times they held balls and parties at the capitol. They were good for the kingdom, but Adrien couldn't quite reason with his father's decision. It felt off. It felt wrong. He felt the distaste grow in his gut with every passing word he read.

"A celebration!" He plastered a happy smile across his face. The crowd cheered below him. With the increase of revenue within the lands, they could afford a temporary increase in their taxes. Logistically, it made sense. But emotionally...

He read the words in his hands, watched them squirm around in his mind. They formed cruel reminders and harsh taunts.

A guard behind him cleared his throat. 

Adrien looked. The glittering trumpet blinded him with the glint of the sun that shone from it. The man holding it looked to Adrien with concern in his eyes. How long had it been since he had spoken?

The prince gave a reassuring nod to those behind him and turned back to the crowd.

"I am proud to say I am going to rule this kingdom some day." These weren't the words written for him. "I am proud to know that I will have amazing people within my kingdom that care about each other and their lands. I am proud to know that my job will not be easy, but it will not be hard." He cleared his throat. 

Nerves blossomed in his stomach. The words on the page were angry at him now. There was no way he would be able to read them now. He spoke anyway.

"But before I become king, I need a queen. Just as every king before me, they need another voice they respect as much as their own to make sure they are staying true to themselves and providing the kingdom with the love it deserves. And so," he stared down at the people below him. He didn't realize he was so far up. He couldn't even see the faces of those closest to him. "I must find a bride." 

He had always known that he would one day need to find a bride that suited him as a queen. He knew that he would most likely marry a princess from another kingdom so Agres would keep its peaceful reputation and gain a powerful ally. He knew that he most likely wouldn't love his wife, and that the charade of the ball was just that, a charade. But thinking to himself then that he must find someone to marry, and so young. A knot tied itself in his stomach. 

Someone below gave a wolf whistle. A smile cracked across his face as the crowd erupted in cheers. How he loved his people.

He rose his hands to settle the crowd. With a new smile, a new life, he tossed the paper to the side. Its words were useless to him now anyway. 

"We are to hold a ball within the castle for three nights, beginning on the upcoming Friday. Every lord and lady from across the kingdom will be invited, every house so I might choose a suitable bride to reign beside me." That was all he was supposed to say. But he couldn't stop himself from continuing. "And I invite all of you to join us in the castle."

The crowd went entirely silent. 

"I want to meet my people properly before I begin my reign. I wish to shake every hand of every one of my subjects. Thus, every man, woman, and child will be invited to the ball this coming weekend. I urge every one of you to make your way to three nights of celebration and merriment and to enjoy your time as citizens of Agres. A peaceful kingdom are we, and I believe we will forever remain at peace."

The crowd seemed to take too long to absorb the information. After Adrien had finished speaking, the square remained silent. 

Had he sad the wrong thing? Was his father right? Maybe he shouldn't have-

A single cheer rose from the crowd. 

It's singularity pulled voices from the rest of the square, and the cheer built. Adrien felt the impact of the noise hit him suddenly like a tidal wave from nowhere. The crushing pressure of the voices of hundred of people pushed into him, knocking him back slightly. He was smothered by happy cheers, surprised yells, pleased and excited screams. 

Adrien smiled down to what amounted to the tiniest fragment of his people, and he saw how happy they were. There were smiles everywhere he looked, even though he couldn't see the expressions on their distant faces. He could feel their happiness though. He could feel the impact his words had on them. 

He waved down to his people with one hand and a huge smile spreading and ever increasing across his face. He turned to walk from the gilded podium and through the heavy curtains that separated him from the rest of the castle. 

His smile remained on his face until he came upon his father. 

The king bore the expression Adrien had learned to be afraid of. The long arms which locked behind his large frame made him seem more dangerous than if the arms were wrapped around his sons neck. The heat radiating off of him had the stench of anger. The expression he bore was the polar opposite to that of the crowd of people below him. 

His father looked every bit the disappointed and angry king. 

Without a word, Adrien walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette is miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I totally forgot that this was a thing until yesterday.

Every Sunday morning, Marinette had to get up early to go to the markets so the house would have enough food for the next week. 

However, with the cousins coming, she had to buy so much more than she normally had to. There were five cousins and two aunts that would be spending the week with them. 

That was seven more mouths to feed, seven more portions of food, thirty more meals to make, on top of the three meals that she made for Chloe, Sabrina, and Madame. 

Early that morning, Marinette saddled Fang, the family horse, and rode quickly to the markets nearest her home, in the outer ring of the city. 

The ride was fast, now that she had a horse to ride, taking less than ten minutes. Her excursion the day before left her tired and weak. Her back and feet ached more than they ever had, and she had developed a bad blister on her big toe that rubbed whenever she took a step. 

She hated the feeling of being injured, so she ignored the pain in her body as she galloped toward town. As she approached the city, the clock struck out the time. 

At nine am, the city was already bustling. 

Sunday mornings were huge for markets. When most stores were closed and people took their days to rest, the farmers and craftspeople of the city came out to sell their wares. 

Everyone from apple farmers to basket weavers to fertilizer sellers were shouting at passerby, bidding them to spend their money on their products. The sound of nearly pleading yells were heard from blocks away, filling the air with cacophonous melodies. The marketplace was alive and roaring with people on horseback, in carriages, and on foot. Children played games to see who could run under moving carriages the fastest. The smaller kids and toddlers played with homemade balls which they rolled under the feet of passerby. Mothers and fathers kept an eye out for their children as they bought what they needed and pulled them along.

Every once in a while, someone would bump into Marinette as she walked Fang through the crowd. She kept a tight hand around Madame's coin purse and a close eye on her own produce that she carried in a saddle bag across Fang's back. The precious fruits and vegetables were her only bargaining chip for the food the needed on a weekly basis. She waded slowly through the huge crowds of people, giving a polite smile here and there, maybe a wave to those vendors she was familiar with. 

She traded a bushel of corn for a bag of apples, a small cabbage and some carrots for a small bag of grains, and an old pair of shoes that Sabrina had thrown out for a beautifully woven shawl she immediately threw over her shoulders. Whatever she could salvage from the scraps the sisters threw out became currency for things she needed. Though the days were getting longer, the nights still held resolute to their promise of the cold, and Marinette had to bundle herself in any scrap of fabric she could to stay warm. 

She bought flour and sugar, fruits and vegetables, and meats and breads by the armful, stuffing them into the saddlebags on either side of Fang. Madame trusted her very slightly, only giving her the barest minimum of the silver and bronze coins to make it by. Marinette often found herself having to scrape together the smallest coins to make up enough money to buy the last necessities. 

Usually, the Sunday haul would fill each bag a little more than halfway. That week, Madame had given her a purse filled with silver and gold, a prize she had rarely set her eyes upon. Now, each bag was stuffed to the brim, along with the large bag of grains that wouldn't fit and had to be tied to the rear of the saddle. 

Marinette realized she wouldn't be able to ride Fang as fast as she had on the way there. She was normally able to ride him hard on the way there and back, trying to get back quickly to finish her daily chores. But with saddlebags as full and heavy as they were now, she didn't want to push him too hard. She would go at a slow trot, at the most, to prevent anything from falling off or getting broken. She would carry the small amount of eggs in her lap as she rode.

While the sun was still low, it was getting warmer by the minute. The spring was quickly becoming summer, and it could be felt. A slight sheen of sweat covered every member of the market that day, despite the early hour, but it didn't keep people from remaining in high spirits. In fact, Marinette saw a smile on every face she passed. The entire atmosphere of the marketplace was jubilant and light. 

On a corner, waving papers at everyone who gave her the slightest bit of attention, was Alya. Marinette had been friends with the girl for a long time now, attracted to the positive, constant energy that she gave off. Every Sunday, Marinette would get her weekly information from the vibrant reporter and they would talk about the events of the kingdom. 

While the friendship was rather shallow, it was the deepest that Marinette had on her busy schedule. She didn't ever have time to meet new people, especially since she worked alone in a huge house. 

The only time she ever talked to anyone was here at the markets. Maybe a messenger or two would stop by the house, but they would always quickly be on their way to get on with their work. Marinette would try every time to continue her conversations for as long as they would go. She wanted distraction from her duties every once in a while, but she rarely got it. Her work followed her everywhere.

As she made it to the corner, Alya noticed Marinette and waved her over excitedly. The girl looked possessed by something that she was waiting to expel. Marinette was just the girl to rant to.

"Good morning, Alya." Marinette offered a kind smile.

"Girl, you will never believe what prince Adrien announced this morning!" Alya was always on top of everything that happened in the kingdom. Somehow, she made it just in the nick of time to every major occurrence within and without the walls of the city. Every week, she wrote out the stories she had witnessed or had been told about and printed them on all the paper she could get a hold of. She sold the news on this corner every Sunday, when there was the most customers to impress upon her knowledge. 

It was impressive, truly. She knew far more than she should.

Alya had even managed to print the story of the morning; the prince had invited everyone to the ball. And she meant everyone.

"Do you know of the ball this coming weekend?" Alya asked rather loudly. There was one thing to say about her, she knew how to project above a crowd.

Marientte nodded. "Madame got the invitation yesterday." 

Alya raised the corner of her lip in distaste at the mention of Madame. It seemed everyone knew who the woman was, and no one liked her. "Of course she did. Everyone is getting invited!"

Fang gave a shaking buck of his head, and Marinette grabbed him around his large neck to pet at the top of his head. She ran her fingers through the hair at his crown and addressed Alya. "Well, the prince is trying to find a bride, of course he's inviting as many suitable women as pos-" 

"No, girl!" Alya interrupted. The bright smile on her face came close to Marinette, the energy of happiness contagious. Marinette could barely keep herself from smiling as well. "I mean he's invited _everyone _. Not just lords and ladies, but commoners as well!"__

__The servant looked to the reporter with a confused expression. "What?"_ _

__"I know!" Alya threw her hand into the air, startling the other girl. "He announced it this morning. He said he wanted to shake as many hands as he could and that it was time for the kingdom to celebrate its longevity and peace. Which I totally agree with, I mean, the common people barely get anything from the crown besides protection. You would think in a kingdom as prosperous as this, there wouldn't be such a large lower class. But he actually said that he wanted to meet his people, do you know what that means?"_ _

__Marinette shook her head and processed the new information, coping with the ever increasing knot in her stomach._ _

__"He's inviting everyone in the kingdom," Alya said very pointedly. Marinette thought she heard some of the same tone as Louis, the same expectation of Marinette, but Alya continued on another thought. "There's going to be so many people at the capitol! We are going to be swarming with people, swarming with news. This is my dream, Marinette! I'm going to be able to talk with people from every city across the kingdom. They're all going to be here, and they're not going to be those awful stuffy rich people who look down on people like us. This is so beyond exciting!"_ _

__Marinette gave a slight smile. It was exciting, wasn't it? But what did it mean for her?_ _

__"Not only that, but we're going to be able to go on castle grounds! We can explore the rose gardens and that forest that has no reason for being in there. We can visit the grave of the queen, or the barracks, or the gardens. We can go anywhere we want!" Alya lost herself in her words. She kept going on about the amazing things she'a heard about the castle while Marinette thought to herself._ _

__Would she be able to go to the castle, truly? Would this news change the mind of Madame about whether or not she was allowed to go? She knew it was dangerous to hope. She knew she might get hurt if she brought this up, but she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to go, and she would do everything she could now to be able to._ _

__Marinette smiled to Alya to hide her discomfort. "That's a nice thought." Her words stopped the reporter's rantings. "Really, it is."_ _

__"What do you mean?" Concern replaced excitement in the girl's voice._ _

__"I'm not going to go to the ball."_ _

__"What!?" Alya jumped as if she had been shocked by an offensive brand. "That doesn't make any sense, girl! You have to come!"_ _

__The servant girl shrugged and sunk into herself with an armored smile. She hugged Fang's head closer to her, using it to slightly cover herself from the intense gaze of her only friend. "Madame would never allow it. She's already told me." She picked distractedly at Fang's mane. "I'm nothing to her."_ _

__Alya sharpened her glare. For someone who barely knew anything about Marinette, she cared an awful lot. Every time she heard an injustice that Madame made the girl go through, she tried to persuade Marinette to leave the house. It was a toxic environment to be sure, she claimed, and there was no good to come from staying there._ _

__But where would she go? She had no family, no friends. Madame had made sure of that._ _

__It was implausible, if not impossible, for Marinette to get out of that house, despite how much she wanted to._ _

__Alya had suggested telling Madame off, but that would get her slapped and disciplined with an abundance of cruel chores. Cleaning the chimney in summer, changing the horse's shoes, giving Madame a bath. There was truly nothing Marinette could do._ _

__"Why don't you sneak out?"_ _

__Marinette sighed. "Alya, I've told you. I have nowhere to g-"_ _

__"No, not run away. Sneak out for the nights of the ball. Come to the castle. Have some fun and meet new people for once in your life. Relax a little." Alya formed a kind smile across her face._ _

__She was a kind girl, if she didn't always show it. She was often abrasive and off putting to those who didn't know her well. The loud yelling and constant bargaining over paper prices let people know she meant business. Marinette was glad to call her a friend._ _

__"And what? Walk to the ball?" She couldn't help herself from being bitter._ _

__"You have Fang."_ _

__"He's drawing the carriage."_ _

__"You have your feet."_ _

__"It takes me an hour to walk to town. How long do you think it would take to walk all the way to the castle?"_ _

__"You have a lot of negativity."_ _

__A smile cracked across both of their faces. Marinette prepared herself to end the conversation and go on with her shopping for the week._ _

__"I told you, it's just not meant to be."_ _

__Alya hated the answer, but she could think of little else that would help. She felt the other girl trying to escape, to change the subject, to walk away. She relented. "I'm sorry."_ _

__"Me, too."_ _

__They parted ways and Marinette went along, collecting things needed for other's consumption. By the time she had all that she knew she would need, the heat had come in. The spring had just began to warm up, melting the snow from the mountains and creating roaring rapids in the river through the city. Children were discouraged from playing near it, worried they might be swept away in the strong current._ _

__Marinette thought of jumping in and floating away, finding a better place or way to live._ _

__She walked to a shallow jetty off to one side of the main bridge to allow Fang a drink. She touched the ice cold water and shivered. It was bitterly cold, but she decided to dip her feet in anyway. The icy water would feel good along with the warm sun on her already achy feet._ _

__Fang drank as Marinette allowed her toes to go numb. When they both had decided it was time to leave, Marinette drew the large stallion away from the frigid water._ _

__They made it up to the road and the girl climbed atop his back, holding a padded sack of eggs in her arms to protect them from being cracked. Her chickens at the mansion provided much of the eggs she needed, but with the new additions to the house, she thought a couple extra would do them good. She knew how fond Sabrina was of her cookies, after all._ _

__Fang walked slowly along the main road. He mostly knew the route home, with very little direction from Marinette outside of finding their way from the market place and on the right track to the mansion._ _

__She finally allowed herself to relax for the day. There was precious few times where she could, but the ride back home, the gentle swaying of Fang beneath her, the slight breeze making music through the trees, and birds' chirping the accompaniment; it was all very relaxing. Her shoulders drooped but she held to the eggs tightly, not allowing them anywhere close to falling from her fingertips. Today would not be the day she would make a double trip into town. That was a cruel punishment she wasn't about to condemn herself to._ _

__As she made it home, she was relieved to see that the cousins had yet to make it to the mansion. Both for the fact that she hated their very essences and that she had yet to prepare their rooms as she had been instructed. She had made it through five of the seven rooms, but the last two taunted her in their largeness. It had been so late at night, and she had been very tired._ _

__She locked Fang into his corral and hurried to undo all of the parcels from his back. All were heavy, especially the grains and the potatoes, which felt like they were filled with metal instead of roots. She was sorry that Fang had to carry them, though she knew they felt like relatively nothing compared to how she handled them._ _

__When all deliveries had been made into the kitchens, Marinette collected her cleaning supplies in a large bucket and hurried up the servant's corridors, trying her best to avoid her step siblings and parent._ _

__It seemed that she was the only person in the whole of the mansion to know of the corridors and where they led. The tunnels made up a large portion of the castle-like complex. She wondered how such places could have gone so untouched._ _

__She spent days exploring them, finding large hidden rooms behind walls, dusty passages to every part of the mansion, and a spiraling staircase to the spire above the house. There was a large room, clouded with powdery soot and grime, filled with old furniture draped in cloths to protect them. There were large, ornate chests filled with paintings and books from a time long ago. She recognized no one in the old portraits, but appreciated what she could make out behind layers of age. The words of the books had long since been unreadable, but she liked to imagine manuscripts of histories of ancient houses. Tomes of magic and beasts long extinct._ _

__She imagined too much for her own good, sprawled across moth eaten lounges and feeling more than reading the ancient books. Madame had often called for her for hours at a time while she was hidden away, finding new passages and treasures within the house._ _

__Marinette found little time nowadays to explore. Instead, she worked. Since Madame had fired all of the staff but her, she had adopted every responsibility outside of grounds and money keeping._ _

__Through a tunnel she knew led to the bedrooms of her arriving aunts she rushed with her cleaning cloths and liquids. She sneezed at the layers of dust and cobwebs coating the walls. The door to both rooms were hidden behind grandiose tapestries that set a larger than life theme to the room._ _

__The larger of the two rooms she started on first, changing sheets, dusting off knock knacks and mirrors, cleaning out closets of ratted cloths, and opening the large drapes of the windows to expose the room to light for the first time in years. She set herself quickly to perfecting every nook and cranny. Every corner was cleaned and every shelf was dusted._ _

__When she moved on to the next room, she could hear her cousins approaching. Their carriage was as loud as they were, adorned in clanging metal and jingling bells. Every entrance was grand, and no expense could be spared in the name of style._ _

__Marinette looked out the window to where they were coming down the lane. She was glad the road was so long, but they were approaching quickly. She cleaned what she could in her limited time and stashed the rest at the entrance of the servant's corridors._ _

__She dashed down the narrow, dim stairs to the kitchen and started a pot of water. She scattered a small bag of tea cookies around a plate along with fresh berries and a small pot of cream. A platter of saucers was set up for the tea, which quickly started to boil. She brewed the tea as quickly as possible, and made the plate of sweets look as beautiful as she could with shaking hands._ _

__As she darted up the uneven stairs, she felt herself slip on the broken steps. The platter of tea jiggled and one turned over, pouring a fine layer of liquid over the otherwise spotless metal tray. She cursed herself and backed down the stairs. The platter was dried and more tea poured in the overturned cup. She walked more carefully up the steps and opened the door with a hip._ _

__The cousins had already taken their place in the parlor, as Marinette had hoped. It was easier to deal with them when they were all in one place._ _

__Silently, she came into the room, set down the plate of sweets and the platter of tea. She passed out the tea with head bowed, lips sealed. She completely ignored the conversation going on around her, focused on her menial work._ _

__She passed the last saucer to Chloe when she heard her name spoken in a clipped, aggravated tone. Of course._ _

__She looked up to who had spoken to her. Nadja held one eyebrow raised pertly, her lips in a tight line._ _

__"She hasn't changed at all, has she?"_ _

__"Not in the slightest," Chloe laughed with Sabrina. "Still the same small, clumsy girl as always."_ _

__"Why do you keep her around, Madame?" Even family referred to her as such. It was hard to imagine anyone held any semblance of fondness for the cranky woman. "She is nothing but a nuisance."_ _

__"I have wondered the same thing myself," the lady of the house responded. She looked over to where Marinette meekly stood and locked her eyes on the girl. Razors cut into her skin at the harsh gaze. Her entire body pebbles with goose flesh. She hated being stared at at all, let alone in such an intense manner. "She has caused such trouble, hasn't she. Nothing like a real maid. Nothing like help at all. More of a hindrance."_ _

__But Marinette stayed. The only reason for it was because Madame knew no one else would work for as little as she did. The plot of land and place to sleep held Marinette as much as she could ask for. She was never given money, of course, but she made her way trading produce. No on else worked great so little under such terrible circumstances. The yelling and constant state of wake as chores had to be done. The nights of less than four hours of sleep, and dats of endless tasks that thankfully kept one busy from the thought of putting poison in Madame's tea._ _

__Madame would never be rid of her; she liked tormenting the girl too much. She loved seeing the life drain from her eyes when she was told she had more chores than expected. She loved assigning the chores, each more creatively painful than the last. She took sick pleasure in making Marinette's life a hell._ _

__"Get rid of her," Manon piped up in her shrill voice. The youngest and most naive of the lot, she had no idea the pleasure Madame got from having. Marinette around. Aurora, sitting next to the girl, placed a hard grip on her sister's knee, squeezing tightly. "Ow!" The younger whispered pointedly._ _

__"Isn't that an interesting proposal. And who would you presume I give her to? What family is desperate enough for a pitiful disgrace such as the one I have here?"_ _

__Marinette bowed her head lower. All eyes on the room were on her, judging and staring, ripping her to pieces with little to no words. She held the tray that once bore saucers of tea tightly, gripping with white knuckles. She closed her eyes as hard as she could and tried to block out the words she was being assaulted with._ _

__It wasn't working._ _

__Every word was crisp and clear in her mind, shoving daggers into her heart. She didn't know why it hurt so much; she knew their opinions of her. But with every utterance of their bitterness, she felt more and more like breaking._ _

__"Why don't we?" Caline suggested._ _

__Nadja shot her a dangerous look._ _

__"We are in need of a new serving girl. It's a simple task, and our housekeeper is quite good at training new girls. I'm sure yours would be whipped into shape in no time." Caline refused to look at the subject of her speech. It was like she didn't even exist._ _

__Marinette was a piece of meat being sold at a market and Madame was the butcher assessing her quality. Caline had an excellent cleaver at home, if only she could use it to shape this unruly chuck into a beautiful meal. Take it away from whatever home the bloody steak had, rip away its dignity while you were at it, and place it with even more unpleasant people than it already had to deal with. Let it fester in the ever increasing toxicity._ _

__A gaping hole formed in her stomach._ _

__"I don't think you could handle this level of unmanageable. It's truly a sight to behold," Chloe added. She and Sabrina laughed together cruelly. Marinette wanted to pour their tea over their perfectly coifed curls._ _

__"Our housekeeper has done wonders. I would love to see what she could do with yours." Caline smiled and caught the eye of Marinette as she took a long draw from her tea. Her stomach churned. "Call it... morbid curiosity."_ _

__Madame looked over to Marinette. She could see the discomfort in her very being. Marinette felt like she was going to implode and explode at once. She wanted to disappear into nothing and rant and rage at these pestilent women. She wanted to run as fast as she could to get away._ _

__"What an intriguing option." Madame took a sip of her tea. What would be the cost? A few months of not having to deal with the girl she so hated and coming back to her broken spirit. It was a dream. She could get rid of the one thing she despised most, cause her unspeakable emotional damage, much more than she could ever produce on her own, and get a decent serving girl afterwards. Meanwhile, she would have a trained servant to order around, who has never been exposed to her cruelty. It was intriguing indeed._ _

__"I think,"Madame said after another slow sip. "That it is a wonderful idea."_ _

__Marinette's head spun. What was happening?_ _

__"Excellent! She'll come with us once we leave after the ball. That leaves us plenty of time to find you a suitable replacement and to send word back home. Perhaps you may even find an exotic girl from another kingdom to call your own. A change of pace will be so exciting." Caline smiled to the girls around the room._ _

__Nadja looked none too pleased, but Caline had the last word. The cousins glared at each other and to the girl who would soon be serving them in their own home. The step sisters laughed beside Marinette, loving the horror stricken face._ _

__Marinette could no longer feel her breath._ _

__"You may go, Marinette." Madame dismissed the servant with a flick of her finger._ _

__It took a moment for her to realize that she had been ordered away. She stumbled to a go and trained to maintain composure as she went to the nearest exit, a servant corridor behind a tapestry at the back of the room._ _

__Feeling started creeping its way up her toes as she walked, then jogged, then ran._ _

__Pain and confusion washed up her calves, buckling her knees as she sprinted from the house. She made it to the barn and swung herself upon Fang, pulling him to a gallop out of mansion._ _

__His feet pounded against gravel and then dirt and finally grass as they made it farther from the main portion of the grounds. Her stomach unfurled in agony as she rode Fang harder than she should have._ _

__Tears clogged in her chest and the pushed themselves up her throat. Prickling heartache spread across her arms in goose flesh. The hairs on her forearms and legs rose to attention, forcing her to notice the desolation that accompanied Madame's decision._ _

__She rode into the fields behind the mansion as her head filled with clouds that blurred her vision. Tears sprang to her eyes and she rode as hard as she could, trying to escape the feelings that overwhelmed her._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: fluff!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I die and Marinette doesn't know what to do with herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting so long to write this chapter. I love them so much and I just want them to be happy. 
> 
> I'm so happy that I've got such a positive response from this work. Thank you everyone who has given kind words about this fic, it means so much.

Adrien didn't attend to his duties for the rest of the day. Not that they really mattered. All of the important, kingdom felling duties were still left to his father. He wasn't trusted with running the governing body yet, even though he knew all the ins and outs. He had attended every meeting and spoken religiously to all of the king's advisors to know everything he could about his future kingdom. But still, a birthright must come at the right time, and the time had yet to come.

Instead, the king decided to keep Adrien as busy as possible. He had been assigned with the menial task of planning a ball. 

It wasn't that he minded. In fact, he quite enjoyed planning the event. He had little to do, but it was something. It was his task, and he took it very seriously.

Perhaps that is why he was so offended by the idea of not having the guest list he wanted. His people were important to him; he said it a thousand times, and he would say it a million more. Thus, he wanted them to celebrate with him.

The king insisted on inviting princesses and their houses from neighboring kingdoms, hopefully pushing his son into a relationship that would benefit the strength of loyalty. The hints that he dropped about the beauty of the Southern Isles and its women became less and less subtle every passing week. It was an obvious preference that the prince married for business. It wasn't needed though, so Adrien kept his mind off of impressing his guests. Instead, he thought of finding someone who would make a good partner. 

Someone who made him laugh, who was kind and gentle, who cared about things as passionately as he did. He wanted to find someone interesting, with depth, and understood the world for what it was. 

He didn't want vanity, or greed, or malevolence. He didn't want someone who treated the servants as he saw the council treat them: with blatant disregard and distrust, like they weren't even human. 

It wasn't a long list, he thought. He had heard longer. He didn't care about height, or background, or size, or employment like he knew others did. He had heard the degrading way some people talked about women. He couldn't stand it. 

Instead of his duties, he stole a horse. 

It wasn't technically stealing, as the horse belonged to the crown, but it wasn't his. His horses were kept in the royal stables, which were locked tightly on the king's orders to prevent Adrien from doing anything rash. 

Of course, this lead Adrien to steal a horse and ride off the grounds. 

There were three gates on the inner walls of the city that protected the castle. One facing the city, one with a direct route to the second largest city in the kingdom, and one straight into the forest. It was less of a gate than an archway, really, and less of a road than a path, trampled over by horses' hooves constantly coming and going out on hunting trips. 

The prince galloped across the deadened grass, following the trail he knew well. He and his mother would sneak out this trail to pick berries in the forest, or go swimming at the pool of water off the river, which swirled with bright fish. He would run down this path when his father got angry with him, folding his arms behind his back and raising his chin high. 

The gazebo in the rose garden was a safe place, but the forest was a haven. It was more alive than any place in the city, and held more excitement. The very air moved in the forest, causing restlessness and excitement within him. He wanted to run through the forest every day, feel the energy seeping into him from every direction.

Adrien rode swiftly through trees and over fallen logs, following game trails and going no where in particular. His horse barely panted below him, used to being ridden hard to build endurance. Not as if such a horse would really need the training, a beautiful thoroughbred with spotless coat. He could feel the powerful muscles through the saddle and reins, contracting and expanding with each movement. He was amazed with the sheer force of the beast below him. 

Low hanging branches scraped at his face and arms as they flew, but he ignored them. Scrapes were nothing of consequence. He needed the distraction of the pain. His heart galloped as fast as his stallion's feet, and just as loud, his blood rushing in his ears. The exhilaration was overwhelming.

He barely noticed as the trees grew more sparse around him, eventually opening up to a huge meadow. The sky was more blue than he remembered it being only moments ago. It was spotted with fluffy white clouds which the sun made glow. There was a line of trees across from him, with a dirt road underneath in the shade. Bushes and scrubs of flowers and berries decorated the field in patches and groves. 

He rode through them and slowed his steed down. His heart still pounded fiercely, but the quiet rage that had once been settled in his stomach over his father's decision had dissipated with his breath. Each pant he and his horse took brought him further from aggravation, and closer to appreciating the beauty of the place he had found himself in. 

How far had he ridden? Where was he? It was the outskirts of the city, but there was no farm land in sight, no developments of any kind. The bushes he passed as his steed walked quietly were overgrown and natural, not pruned or picked. The field had the occasional gopher hole that fumbled his ride. 

Wherever he was, it was beautiful. It held the same energy as the forest, but more at peace, fresher.

Birds chirped above him in the trees, and he could hear a stream of water not far off. He followed the noise to water his horse, and found a large, quiet grotto of weeping willows and cattails. Rays of sun shone through the branches of the overgrown trees and shed delicate light on the sparkling water. The view calmed his heart and his mind, and he found his head clearing. It was easy to be at peace in a place like this. 

He dismounted but kept a close eye on the horse as it drank, and leaned back in the tall grass. A ray of sun fell on his chest and warmed his entire body, beckoning him into a contented lull, listening to the water and the birds. A toad croaked and fish splashed. Wind rustled through the long branches, occasionally blowing one so far as to tickle his nose. He could feel the wind nuzzling him like the rumbling in the ground. 

The deep shaking grew into a noise that joined the water and birds and wind: the unmistakeable sound of a galloping horse. Adrien sat up as the sound drew nearer and looked around. The trees by the brook blocked his view of the meadow, so he grabbed the reins of his ride home and drew them both out of the grotto.

The horse was farther than anticipated, but the hooves hitting the ground was heard throughout the field. It galloped quickly down the road lined by trees and bushes, picking up dirt as it went. The cloud of dust bellowed behind them. 

Something was wrong. By the look of it, the rider had little control. In fact, the horse was going far too fast for any control to be had over the beast. 

Reflexively, Adrien mounted his mount and trotted toward the pair of rider and horse. As he approached, the rider slipped and fell from the galloping steed. He kicked his own nag to ride more quickly toward the fallen rider, picking up speed then slowing down as he approached. He practically leapt from the still-moving horse and came up to the lady on the ground.

"Are you okay?" he called ahead of him.

Her dress was ragged and torn and dirty. It looked patched together from at least three different garments. Her shoes were no different. They had holes with dirty socks poking through, at least three different pairs of socks, each so ratted that the three pairs barely made up one complete sock. Her skin was dirty as well, what little of it he saw. Even in the heat, she was covered from ankle to wrist. Her dress had been pulled up slightly to show her shins, which were scrapped and bruised. She sat up and studied her hands, which had pebbles lodged in broken skin. 

When she looked at him, it was distractedly. She was too busy caring for her bleeding palms to pay him any real mind. Her face was contorted in pain, half covered in the bangs that hung into her eyes. The rest of her hair was tied back into two ponytails on either side of her neck. 

She didn't respond. She picked out a sharp rock that had found a way under her skin. They both winced as she pulled it out.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

The girl looked up at him with a wry grin. "Oh, I'm no ma'am. And I'm just fine, thank you." Blue eyes barely paid him any mind. They were both distracted by bleeding hands.

"Here," he offered, and pulled a monogrammed kerchief from his lapel. He squatted down next to her, causing her to instinctually pull away. He noted this and kept his distance, handing over the pure white piece of cloth. She took it with a muttering of thanks. He nodded. 

She pressed the cloth between her hands, feeling the blood well up in the pure cloth. Her eyes misted with a sheen of tears. She glanced up at the bray of her horse, who had found its way back.

"Fang!" Her voice was mixed with accusatory disappointment and relief. "I thought you had run off."

Adrien noticed the back of the stallion, which was completely bare. "You rode bareback? No wonder you fell." She shot him a glance. "Are you sure you're alright?" 

"I'm fine," she chirped, her back still turned slightly to him. A tear had found its way down her cheek. Adrien felt the urge to wipe it away. He wasn't quite sure what he should do. 

He looked at her hands when she peeled the cloth from them. They were filled with dirt and rocks, blood quickly drying into blisters. 

"We need to clean them," he offered.

"I know," she said, an edge of defense in her voice.

Adrien looked around helplessly, trying to find a way to help. "There's a brook, just a ways off. We should run them through water."

She nodded. He stood hurriedly and gave her a hand to help her up. She accepted gratefully, still hiding her face from him, never holding his eye. She stood bent over her hands, still pressing the cloth into them. Adrien watched her carefully, nervous that there was more to the injury. 

When she took a step, her entire body winced. Instinctively, Adrien went to catch her in case she fell, but she waved him off. "I'm fine," she told him through gritted teeth, obviously not fine. 

With another step, she gasped at the pain and fell totally into him. He opened his arms to catch her, and she landed awkwardly at his chest. She curled around herself tightly, and he felt a tear drop onto his hand. 

She muttered something that he couldn't hear. He leaned in closer. "What was that?"

"I can't walk," she whispered, her throat choked with pain and, what was that? Fear? Her eyes were scrunched closed as hard as they would go. Every inch of her screamed pain.

Without warning, without quite knowing what he was doing, Adrien picked her up. He scooped her gently in his arms and carried her over to where his horse was waiting. He didn't look at her, didn't want to embarrass her as she cried into him. He just carried her over to his horse and helped her climb on. 

She didn't question it, but wrapped the reins around her wrist while pressing her hands together. His handkerchief was almost completely red now, but he didn't mind. He had hundreds of them. He was more worried about her state. 

He grabbed the bridal of the castle horse and started leading it to where he knew water waited. "Fang," he called behind him, getting the horse's attention, and clicked his tongue, hoping it would get the idea. The large horse followed close behind them, head low. Every once in a while, it stopped to graze, then trotted to catch up after Adrien clicked his tongue.

Eventually, they had made it to the grotto. Adrien held back the long tendrils of branches that hung like a curtain to allow the girl into the space he had found. They made their way slowly to the water. 

Adrien stopped his steed and then offered a hand up to the girl in the saddle. She stepped firmly on her good foot and swung the other around, bracing herself against the pain evident in her face. She could barely hold onto the saddle with her hands, so she used her entire body as a counterweight. Adrien held on to her waist and allowed her to fall back into his arms again. 

She was lighter than he expected and he walked her down to the water. The horses followed, bowing their heads to drink the water greedily. Fang drank especially briskly. 

They sat at the edge of the water. The girl stretched one leg out in front of her while the other was tucked neatly beneath her. She ignored her legs, focusing on the rocks still imbedded in her hands. 

Adrien offered a hand and she handed over the cloth. He leaned over the water and dipped it in, rinsing out as much of the blood as he could. He left it entirely soaked with water as he gestured for her hands. She leaned close to him and gave him her injured palms. 

She whined quietly as he pressed the water against her injuries. The small gasp made Adrien wince. 

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Her voice was slight, barely there. 

"That doesn't mean I can't be sorry that it happened." 

She was silent after that. The only sounds were the running of the creek and the birds in the trees. 

Adrien worked diligently to clean out the wounds, apologizing every time she gave a sign of discomfort. They worked like that in silence for a long while. The cool water was flushing out the dirt from the cuts in her hands, and they had stopped bleeding a while ago. Still, they would have to heal for a long time.

When he released her hands she pulled them back to her chest. 

"We need a bandage."

"It will be fine, but thank you."

"They might become infected. They're still quite dirt-" 

"I've healed from worse. I promise it will be fine."

Adrien looked at her quizzically. What was stopping her from accepting the help she needed? He questioned it, but reluctantly accepted. 

"May I look at your leg?"

"I would rather you didn't."

"It needs cleaning as well. And your hands are in no position to be patching yourself up." He added a kind smile to try and make the offers seem more appealing. She still looked hesitant. "Please."

For the first time since their meeting, she held his gaze. Her blue eyes looked straight up at him and locked onto his. For a moment, nothing in the world moved. Her breath seemed to catch in her chest, and all light in the world focused on her.

The moment passed. She looked to were her leg was extended before her and nodded. Adrien watched her as he moved closer to her, remembering the way she shifted away earlier at their first meeting. He dipped the kerchief in the water once more, going about the cleaning process again.

He found a rhythm of wiping, dipping, and ringing, and fell into a pattern. He hummed to himself while he worked, a sweet song his mother used to sing him to sleep with. She had the purest voice, he remembered, and loved listening to the melodies she would make up just for him.

"Are you a guard?" 

He looked up to the girl he was treating.

"What?"

She gestured to the kerchief. And to him in general. "You're wearing the royal colors. Are you a guard or something?"

It was then that Adrien realized that she had no idea who he was. She wasn't tripping over herself to please him, or calling him His Majesty, or looking at him with that distinct brand of awe and distaste people got around royalty. It was a nice change. He found himself liking the difference in attention.

"Yes," he blurted. "Yes, I'm a guard."

"What are you doing out here? I thought guards couldn't leave the castle except on special business." Her tone was slightly accusatory, but he appreciated the question. The silence had begun to get awkward.

"They're not. I'm... fetching something for the prince." He tried to come up with something quickly, but his mind was faltering. 

"What's that?" He glanced at her. By the look on her face, he could see that the conversation was the only thing keeping her from seething in agony. He lightened his touch and thought.

"There was a runaway horse that kidnapped a girl. He wanted me to fetch her and clean her wounds." He smiled to himself. It was ridiculous, but he liked the answer he gave.

After a moment, he heard a sound new to the grotto: laughter. It bubbled up from the pit of her stomach and spilled out of her lips, which were smiling for the first time since he had met her. She laughed with a wonderful abandon that had him cracking up as well. He watched her as she laughed, which was abruptly cut off by a wince. She grabbed at her leg but the smile remained on her face. 

"I'm glad the prince had such insight. I might have been stuck out here without your help." She looked kindly to him. 

He smiled back. With the light flowing in to the grotto and hitting her face, he realized what a beautiful person she was. Dirty and injured, yes, but with big eyes and a liveliness about her. Her raven hair was unique and stunning as the light caught the blue and purple hues. He found himself staring.

The girl caught him staring and blushed vibrantly, turned her head away. 

He blushed himself and turned his attention back to her leg. Silence filled the space between them once more. Finally, he had cleaned the dried blood off of her knee, but he knew there was more damage than just skin deep. He didn't push the need for her to bandage the injuries. It would only be met with more opposition. He liked it better when she smiled at him. 

"I suppose you have to arrest Fang now, don't you?" Her smile was light and playful. He returned it.

"Yes, I suppose so. Kidnapping is a terrible crime, especially someone as lovely as yourself." They both registered his words and their eyes sprang open wide. They stared at each other for a second, each blushing a darker and more vibrant shade of red than the other. Then they looked away. 

Adrien burrows himself and tried to cover his mistake. "Where were you going so quickly?" he decided to ask.

"Hm? Oh." She looked for an answer. "Nowhere, really. I've got nowhere to go." A shadow replaced the blush across her face and she went back to dodging his gaze. 

"Do you have a home?" Concern clouded his voice. She adjusted herself uncomfortably. 

"Well, I'm not so sure about that anymore. I'm going away. I don't know for how long." 

"Where?" He didn't want to make her more uncomfortable, but he couldn't see another path in conversation.

"With my aunts. And my cousins." She stumbled over her words. "Well, they're not really my aunts. They're the sisters of my step mother. They're awful. They're only in the city for the ball, but my step mother is sending me away with them afterwards to train with their housemaster. They don't like the way I clean the sheets, apparently." She attempted to cover her words with a smile. 

Adrien was confused. "Wait, you clean for your step mother? Why?"

"Because she hates me." The girl caught herself. She looked horrified as she stared at Adrien. He was surprised as well. He had never heard such blatant honesty like that before. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- it's not that she hates me, she just- I don't know, she's cruel- I mean, it's better than no home and I've got no family and- Well, I did, but they're not- and I wish that I did, but... What I mean to say- I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this." She was blushing furiously. She curled into herself and picked at her palms. 

For the first time, he noticed the callouses on her hands. Her fingers were dry and hard, the sign of a working servant. It explained the clothing, though he didn't know any house servant that was forced into such shambles. 

"Who is your step mother?" He felt the need to do something about her situation. 

She looked up at him through long eyelashes. "Madame Mendeleiev."

He wasn't familiar with that name. He prided himself with knowing every family, but Mendeleiev was a name he had never heard before. 

"I don't believe I've ever met her acquaintance."

"Good," she spat harshly. "She's terrible. Everyone who knows her just call her 'Madame' and are terrified of her. She has quite the reputation for cruelty." Her arms crossed themselves around her stomach. 

After a silence, Adrien responded. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"That doesn't mean I can't be sorry that it happened." He smiled at her warmly. It didn't fix the situation. He didn't think much of anything would, but perhaps kindness might have some effect. His mother always told him to remember kindness and use it broadly. 

She smiled back, again through her long lashes. She looked small, curled into herself. She looked at his hands, resting on the kerchief covering her leg. They both noticed the position and shifted away from each other. She tried to bend her leg into herself, but a look of pain crossed her face and she left it straight. 

Her eyes lingered over the water. A thought passed through her mind and she bent towards her feet, taking off her shoes and all three layers of socks at a time. The injuries on her hands made it difficult, but eventually she got all layers off. She scooted close to the water and extended her legs as far as they would reach, dipping them into the running water. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. 

She looked so peaceful then, with head reclined to catch the sun, hair blowing ever so slightly in the breeze. Adrien decided to join her. He removed his shoes and rolled up the hem of his pants and sat close to her, putting his feet in the water. 

It was freezing. The spring heat had just begun to melt the snow from the mountains, and all water was ice cold still. Adrien shivered as he adjusted to the new temperature.

The girl looked to him and laughed. 

He smiled back. "It's cold," he told her, almost defensively.

She laughed again and shook her head. Her eyes went to study her palms again. He clutched the kerchief in his hand and made up his mind. 

With a swift motion, he ripped the kerchief in half. 

She stared at him in abject horror. "What are you doing?" Her voice was a shriek. 

"Creating a bandage," he told her, off handed.

"Why?" 

"Because you need it." 

"But- but your kerchief. You can't just-"

He shook his head and smiled as comfortingly as he could. "I just did. And you needn't worry, I have plenty. Truly, you need it more than I do." He offered her the ripped fabric.

Her expression was a mixture of shock and confusion. Without a word but after a long moment of hesitation, she gave him her hands. 

He went about the business of wrapping the cloth around her palms. He was lucky the fabric was long enough. It was just enough to wrap once around and to tie itself in a knot. 

As he worked, she whispered a soft, "Thank you."

He grinned to her. Her eyes were wide, her lips formed a soft 'o.' She was surprised by something, but Adrien had no idea what. With a tinge of laughter at the cute expression, he told her, "It's nothing. Really." 

The bells of the clock tower were meant to be heard throughout the city, but Adrien never expected to hear them from this far away. The deep reverberation of the chimes rumbled through the air, striking once for the hour. Both perked up and looked to where the noise was coming from. The girl he was bandaging suddenly looked frantic. She stood quickly called over her horse.

"Thank you, but I really have to go." She took a brave step, ignoring the pain that was clear on her face. 

Adrien held his hands out like he was going to catch her. "Wait! You shouldn't be walking."

She smiled bitterly and climbed atop the horse with little effort. Adrien gaped at her sudden strength. "I shouldn't do a lot of things," she laughed to herself and turned around quickly, holding Fang's hair as a rein. 

With a kick to the side, she was off, waving kindly to Adrien as she disappeared. When he looked to the side of where he was sitting, he realized she had forgotten her shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing, anyone?!?! :DD


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette makes some friends!

Marinette held the tray in her shaking hands, treading carefully on the broken stairs until she got to the door. She stared deeply ahead of her, not seeing the old, splintering wood directly in front of her face, but the casually chatting women in the parlor. 

They spent far too much time there, she though to herself. Reading the news, practicing instruments and singing, spreading gossip. It was time for afternoon tea, and they would all likely be gathered there, speaking hatefully about some pour soul back home. She imagined their faces pristinely painted with the newest products from the capitol. They would be waiting for her to arrive, over-encumbered with trays of tea, but uncaring and impatient nonetheless. 

Marinette saw the tea tremble in their cups. Her entire body wanted to go back and hide in her room-slash-kitchen until they all starved. But she had to serve them. 

They hadn't been treated since they decided to send her off with the aunts. They would be angry with her. Not like they weren't always.

She looked past the tray to her feet. Her toes squirmed on the cold stone. Those were her last pars of shoes, and she had simply left them behind. There weren't any more socks in her tiny cupboard full of clothes. And the bells were ringing viciously beside her. 

She had no time to think of a solution. But as she stood at the threshold of the main house, she shook nervously. 

They would already be angry. But now that she didn't gave shoes? What would they do?

The girl took a gulp of air and held it in her chest, trying to force the pressure there away. Without another thought, she pushed herself out the door. 

The walk to the parlor was always long, but now it seemed endless. The marble floors stretched for miles in front of her, getting ever longer as she hurried along. She noticed all of the spots on the floor that needed cleaning. She felt the dirt under her bare feet. The light from the parlor poured into the entryway as it did from noon to three, blinding her with the brilliance. 

She squinted against the glare and walked determinedly into the large room. 

And stopped.

It was empty. 

Why was it empty?

It was time for tea, they would all be gathered here, speaking low to one another, as if when their voices went above a whisper they would all simultaneously combust. Marinette looked all around the room, like they were hiding in a corner waiting to yell out "surprise!"

But they weren't there. The entire room was barren, quiet. Peaceful.

It was a new sensation.

Usually the house, or at least this room, was filled with noise, however quiet. The sisters would be acting out behind Madame's back while they pretended to be practicing. Madame would bark orders from them about a sharp or flat note, a vibrato that was held too long, or posture while at the piano. The window would be open, letting in the breeze and the sounds of the birds and wind through leaves. There would be life. 

"They went to tea," a voice rang out behind her, startling Marinette. 

She jumped nearly out of her skin, the platter in her hands shaking violently and sending the cups and saucers skittering across the tray. Tea spilled down Marinette's dress as she turned and the liquid sloshed around the rimmed platter. The hot liquid seared through her layers of clothes and into her skin, causing a soft hiss to escape her lips. 

When she turned, she found two girls standing together, one very tall with jet black hair tied sternly back into a bun at the back of her neck, and a short girl with equally short blonde hair that barely made it to her ears. It looked jagged and unkempt, like it had been chopped off with pruning shears instead of proper scissors. The latter had large eyes that stared up at Marinette in surprise. The taller girl seemed totally unfazed. 

"I'm sorry, she didn't mean to startle you!" The shorter girl said and came forward with a rag that appeared out of nowhere. She wiped absently at the front of Marinette's dirty clothes. The more she wiped, the dirtier the white cloth became. She looked at the cloth and then to Marinette with barely hidden distaste. "Oh. Maybe we should just wash these."

"Who are you?" the ever eloquent Marinette decided to ask.

The two girls shared a look. The taller of them spoke sternly. "We are Madame Chamack and Bustier's handmaidens. We were to accompany them to assist them with preparations for the ball. They went to have tea with Madame Lahiffe. You weren't told?" Marinette noted that this girl's hands seemed to never leave the small of her back, where they remained clasped together.

"No. I- I guess I wasn't. I'm sorry, I- I didn't know. I'm going to... clean up."

"Please." Her facial expressions didn't change as she spoke. The air of innate professionalism was staggering. "Would you show us around the facilities?" 

"We've been walking around for a while looking for everything, but the servant's passages are like a maze. And we can't find our quarters anywhere. It's quite a large building."

Marinette made her way back across the marble floors of the main entryway with a dripping tray in her hands. The girls looked uncomfortable walking across these floors, then she realized they probably weren't used to walking in the main hallways at all. Servants usually kept to their hallways, keeping out of sight until needed. But Marinette walked where she liked. Despite enjoying the adventures they provided, the servants hallways felt far too confining for her liking. 

When she made it to the kitchen door, she pushed it open with a slight grimace. Her leg was still in pain. She thought she would be able to ignore it, but every step was agony. 

"The grounds don't have servants' quarters. I have the kitchen." She walked carefully down the uneven steps and set the tray in the large basin filled with murky water. She needed to refill it with fresh water, but she hadn't found the time. 

"What?" They both said at once.

Marinette pointed to the floor absentmindedly as she began cleaning the tray and dishes it held. "That's my bed. My dresser. The call bells. I keep close to the stove to stay warm. There's quite a draft from the door to the barn yard. It gets especially cold in the winter. You're lucky the warm is moving to-"

"You say you sleep on the floor?"

Marinette looked at them again, then at her bed. "Yes." It was a simple statement, but the horror that crossed their faces was mixed with pity and resentment and concern. The two glanced between each other and Marinette, questioning. 

"Where are the other handmaids?" The short blonde girl asked. She seemed to be retreating behind the taller of the two, as if scared of her surroundings.

"I run the house."

"You're the only handmaiden for three women?"

"Yes."

They shared another look. "Excuse me, what's your name?"

"Marinette." They shook hands.

"Marientte. I'm Juleka, this is Rose." They shared polite smiles. "You are the only handmaiden for three women in a house meant for twenty, along with your grounds and the animals you keep outside? How much are you paid?"

Marinette shifted uncomfortably and stared into the basin of water. "They're my family. I don't- I mean, I couldn't ask, they would never allow... And it's not as if I need for anything-" That was a complete lie. Here she was without any shoes or socks, the daughter of a Lord with a dress so dirty it practically stood up on its own, with bandaged hands and a hurt leg. What had she come to? 

She limped over to her bed and sat heavily. She wiped her dripping hands on her dirty dress. "They wouldn't pay me. They wouldn't even think of it." She pulled up the hem of her dress and studied the scrape on her knee and shin. It still burned. "Madame is cruel. She's known for being cruel. And Chloe and Sabrina?" She picked at a forming scab and threw her dress back in place, turning her attention to the bandages on her hands. 

"But it doesn't matter. I get food and I get shelter and I have a bed and I live comfortably. It's not the worst situation anyone's ever been in. I mean, I've heard of worse." She started unwrapping the monogrammed kerchief scraps from her hands and laying them beside her. They still had tints of red spotted around them. But her hands had started to heal and scab over. They throbbed. 

She glanced up to Rose and Juleka. They had pity in their eyes. 

Marinette hated that. 

She stood abruptly and walked over to her makeshift dresser. Her leg protested and threatened to collapse beneath her as she stood. She pulled a pair of white knickers from the drawer and a pair of scissors from the counter and began cutting large strips for bandages. 

Rose walked over quietly and laid a hand on her shoulder. Marinette startled but kept cutting. When an entire leg had been cut into even strips, she put the scissors down and wrapped them carefully around her hands.

"Wait," Rose said. "I can make something for that." The small girl smiled at Marinette with question in her eyes. It took a minute for Marinette to understand what the question was. Hesitantly, she nodded. 

Juleka took Marinette's arm and led her back to her bed. "Sit. We'll clean today. You should rest." The composed exterior of who was no doubt a high ranking member of the house shifted to expose a small smile. Marinette returned it and sat on the foot high pile of the softest cloth she could find that formed her bed.

She watched as Rose and Juleka went around the kitchen and chopped up herbs and grains to put in a small pot. Occasionally, she pointed where a specific herb was. Sometimes, Rose would pull something from a pocket in her skirts that Marinette was amazed would fit there. She seemed to keep a lot hidden within the ruffles of the large skirt, as when she sniffled from the heat of the stove, she pulled out a kerchief and dabbed her nose before giving it back into another hidden pocket. 

Marinette watched them care for her. It was such an unfamiliar feeling. Juleka helped Rose make some poultice from scratch, going out of their way to care for her. Juleka asked for the cleaning supplies, which Marinette remembered were in the second largest guest bedroom, so the girl went off to look for them and begin cleaning. They had no need to, so why would they?

Marinette was used to doing everything on her own. She mad ever food and cared for her cuts and bruises and sewed her own clothes. But today, for whatever reason, people were helping her more than they ever had. And they were no small deeds. It wasn't picking up something she dropped, or passing her the salt. 

That man in the field that day had taken almost an hour out of his day to clean her wounds. He dealt with her tears, helped her walk. He literally carried her, and he made her laugh. Something that hadn't happened in a long time. 

She spent so much of her time taking out the garbage, making meals, cleaning messes, or mending clothes, that she forgot about herself. When, truly, was the last time someone had made her laugh? When had she stretched her mouth into a smile that wasn't supposed to make the other person feel better. 

Even Louis. He had been so kind to her. 

Before she knew what she was doing, Marinette had reached under her bed to where she had stowed the beautiful fabric for her dress. The midnight purple fabric still stunned her in its shining elegance. She ran her hands over the material, relishing the soft touch. She began laying it out.

Rose walked over to her and sat down beside her. "What's this?" she asked, the poultice boiling on the stove. 

"It's going to be a dress. The shopkeeper of the dress shop in town gave it to me. He wants me to make something." Marinette talked absently as she thought over the fabric. She knew what she was going to do. She had thought through the style every night since she received the gift. But the pattern? How would she assemble it? And on what body form?

"Do you need any help?" 

Marinette glanced over to Rose. The fragrance of her concoction began to fill the room, the heady scent making Marinette sleepy. She realized how tired she was; she had gotten pitifully few hours of sleep the night before, and the offer of help was tempting. She could feel her eyes dropping close as the room warmed up. 

But she shook her head. "No, thank you." This was her project and hers alone. Besides, the acceptance of more help would be too much. She couldn't ask that of her. 

She spread the fabric as far as it would go and then folded it in half once. It was a trick she had seen Louis use when he cut the pattern, so you could get both sides of the pattern while only cutting it once. She smiled at the thought of him. He was too kind to her. It was more than she deserved. 

Without thinking, she started cutting. The old scissors that ripped cleanly through the thin knickers earlier caught with every other snip on this rich fabric. It was nearly impossible to get all the way through both pieces of material in one cut. She had to resign herself to using tiny strokes at the sharpest point of the old and overused scissors. 

Eventually, she had a piece of fabric that would be the front of her bodice. She cut it larger than it would actually be, so she could have room for error. 

She held it up to her chest and wrapped it around her body. There was a good two inches on either side for her to sew. She grinned to herself. The first step was done.

She began cutting more, measuring how long the fabric should be by laying next to it. She cut pieces for her skirt, and some for sleeves, even one for a train that would extend behind her as she walked. She ended up scrapping that piece and turning it into another panel for a flowing skirt. The train would be impractical if she had to walk to the-

No. She wasn't going to the ball. This dress was not for the ball or to impress anyone. This dress was for her. It was a project, a distraction. 

Rose pulled her concoction from the fire and let it cool, stirring in the last of her ingredients. "It's done," she told Marinette and came to sit beside her. 

Marinette stopped her work on the fabric and laid her hands out for Rose to inspect. She spread her fragrant poultice over a strip of thin fabric from the knickers and held it above Marientte's hand.

The girl's voice was soft and kind. "This might sting a little, and it's quite warm. But the heat helps to heal more quickly." Marinette nodded, preparing herself. It couldn't hurt more than the initial injury itself. 

Rose pressed the fabric down on Marinette's hand and began wrapping quickly. A slow burn crept up her arm and settled in her shoulder, pulsing with ache. She closed her eyes against the stinging pain as Rose continued wrapping more fabric around her hand. 

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered when Marinette made a small sound of discomfort. Marinette was about to tell her that it wasn't her fault, but she held her tongue, remembering what the boy at the creek had told her. 

She smiled with the memory of him. Who was he? She hadn't ever gotten his name. She found herself wanting him to be here, being the one to wrap her hand in a stinging salve and telling her a joke to forget the pain. 

She hid her blush with her free hand, until Rose, the devil she was, pulled it away so she could wrap it. 

They sat in silence for a moment, Marinette hoping the other girl hadn't noticed the blush that spread across her face, touching even the tips of her ears. She tried not to smile, but the memory of the kind boy forced her into a deep red shade. 

"What are you smiling about?" Rose asked. Marinette sighed. Of course she had noticed. Just her luck. 

"Nothing. It's nothing." 

"Really?" She wrapped the last of the strips of fabric around Marinette's hand and tucked the end in to secure it. "It certainly doesn't look like nothing. It looks like you're thinking of someone very fondly."

If her face could achieve a darker shade of tomato red, it did just then. Marinette was sure her face was warmer than the substance coating her hands. "No, I just-" she stumbled over her words. "It's not that, I'm-"

Her saving grace, Juleka walked back into the room, hefting the large pail of cleaning supplies along side her. 

"Juleka!" Marinette called. "How was... cleaning?"

The tall girl arched an eyebrow at the two of them. "It seems to me I've walked in on something. Should I-?" She gestured toward the door and took a step backwards. 

"No!" Marinette chirped, louder than she had expected. "No, you can stay!" 

Juleka looked between the two girls on the floor and the cut up fabric beside them. The cleaning pail rattled as she set it on the floor and went to wash her hands. "What have you two been up to?" She was obviously referring to the dress on its was to becoming wearable, but Rose decided to interject before Marinette could steer the topic into calmer waters. 

"Marinette was just blushing about someone and I was about to find out who."

This brought an arched eyebrow from Juleka and a death cry from Marinette. 

"Is that so?" For a moment, the cool exterior of Juleka cracked and showed a softer filling. She wiped her wet hands on a spare towel and sat at the solitary chair that existed in the room. It was where Marinette ate her infrequent meals, or rested while tea boiled, or where she caught her breath before the bells started ringing in her ears again. "Someone has caught your eye?"

"No! Not at all!" Marinette blushed again. 

"I'm not quite sure I believe it," Juleka claimed with a wry smile. 

"She's not very good at hiding it," Rose agreed.

Marinette covered her face with both wrapped hands and restrained herself from yelling something obscene into them. 

Attention focused towards her had never lasted this long. It was mostly short conversations in the marketplace quickly interrupted by another customer, or a scolding from Madame that bred another chore that must be completed before she went off to sleep. She had never been fraught over like this, so much and so personally in one day. She squirmed under their inquiry. 

"It's nothing!" she tried assuring them. "I was-" and there she went, explaining in hurried detail the events of the day. She decided to leave out the details that Madame had sold her off to the cousins and would be shopping her off after the ball came to a close. The butter reminder made her stomach sink into a pit at her throat. "I was riding in the meadow and Fang threw me and a guard from the palace came and helped me clean my injuries. He took me to this little cove under the willows where there was a beautiful brook of cold water and began washing out my hands. I wish I could say I made decent conversation, but honestly I was so dumbfounded that anyone had taken their time to help me. I want quite sure what to make of the situation. 

"But then he made a sweet joke," she continued. "And his smile-" her blush took over her words. A swarm of butterflies hatched in her stomach and threatened to blossom from her mouth if she kept speaking. 

Rose and Juleka smiled at one another and then to Marinette. 

"What did he look like?"

"Was he kind?"

"How did you know he was a guard?"

"Was he in armor, you're knight in shining armor?"

"What color were his eyes, his hair?"

The two sprang question after question at her, and Marinette struggled to keep you. It was a startling change of pace for two people o be so completely enraptured in her story, but she answered diligently. Before she knew it, she was laughing with them. They told her jokes, and began telling stories of the cousins. 

Apparently, Manon liked bugs and would sneak worms, spiders, and beetles into the food of the other girls. It would make a horrendous mess when the girls inevitably threw the plates across the room to get the insect away from them, but the serving girls always had a hard time restraining their laughter. The cousins deserved the harsh treatment, and Manon seemed to be the only one willing to give it to them. 

Lilian loved playing tricks on the others as well, but she played the long game and pitted the other girls against each other. She would often use the servant's hallways to steal from the girl's rooms and put the stollen items in another girl's room. She liked to tear tiny holes in the petticoats of Alix and Aurora and wait for them to tear completely while they were out in the town. The older girls would come storming back into the mansion and demand their garments be fixed immediately, along with the dozens of other projects they insisted upon.

Aurora refused to go out in the same outfit twice. The household seamstresses were constantly making new items for her to wear, or altering her existing garments to make them passable as new. 

But no matter the demands, when they were out of the presence of a master of the house, they were free to take a breath. There were over thirty girls working in the house, and though they were constantly working, it wasn't anywhere as grueling as what Marinette went through. 

Each girl was assigned to one task, and that was their duty for the month. They always had help from another girl. They were never alone in their tasks. 

Marinette watched as Rose and Juleka fondly recounted experiences in the kitchens, or the barns, or as servers. How she wished she had more fond memories of her work. 

While they chatted, Marinette played around with the fabrics in vain. She had cut out significant portions of the pattern, but what was she to do now? She didn't have a dress form. She didn't have her measurements. She didn't have a model. The scraps of gorgeous materials taunted her as they lay on the dirty floor. 

Before she could decide on a direction, the sound of a bell came from the wall behind them. It came from the gate. Madame and her legion of ladies were coming down the lane to the house. 

Marinette had set up this specific bell so she could know when to prepare herself for more work. The tingling noise either signaled the return of the carriage or a messenger with a package or letter. It was one of the lesser used bells, as Madame rarely left the mansion ad no one cared to send them messages. People rarely came to tea, and there hadn't been a call to visit in months. 

Haphazardly, Marinette folded the materials on the floor and stuffed them under her thin mattress. "They're at the gate," she told her two new companions, when their eyebrows met in question. 

"They'll need to be escorted to the door. Madame loves a show." She stood abruptly and straightened her legs faster than she should have. A ripple of pain coursed through her legs causing her to stagger. She held on to the small table for support, but she couldn't hold herself up for long with her injured hands. Her knees connected with the stone floor with a dull crack and Marinette tried to keep herself from yelping. 

Rose and Juleka were at her sides in a moment, offering hands and words of concern. 

Marinette waved them off with flicks of her hands. "I'm fine," she told them completely unconvincingly. "We need to get outside. Just... give me a second." A large breath swelled in her throat and puffed out, disturbing the copious amount of dust and dirt that coated the floor. 

With another attempt to stand failing, Rose put a small hand on her shoulder. 

"Marinette, it's okay." They connected gazed and Marinette hated to see the familiar look of pity and concern throughout her eyes. A sick feeling of ineptitude swirled in her stomach as she forced herself to sit down. "We'll take care of them. You rest." 

The pair's smiles barely hid their sad sympathies. She couldn't find the will to fight them as they set a large pot of water over the ever-burning stove fire and hurried out the door. 

Juleka got her first taste of the crumbling stairs with a slip. She grabbed onto the railing for support in a mockery of the action Marinette had been defeated from. But instead of falling to the ground or asking for support, she righted herself easily with a simple smile of reassurance to Rose and swept through the door. They left Marinette where she sat on the filthy ground, sullen and accepting the day's defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I have to add the Suffering. It is my trade mark.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien is actually happy??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! 1000 hits! Thank you to everyone who has read this fic, it means a lot to me that you guys have liked it so much. I wish this chapter could be More, but I'm planning a little somethin somethin for the next update.

Adrien rode back to the castle with a smile on his face. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so energized, but he felt it buzzing through him, shooting from his fingertips. 

He had never gone so far from the castle without an escort. He had never held a conversation that wasn't about politics outside of his family. Even then, he hadn't had a conversation not about politics _within _his family for years. He had never been anywhere so completely alone.__

__And he had never been spoken to like a normal human being._ _

__Even with Nino, there was always an edge about them. Nino was Adrien's best friend, but you could feel the way Nino held back, just slightly, trying to not overstep his boundaries. Adrien didn't think they had any anymore, but the barrier remained firmly in its place. Adrien was still so intoxicatingly, suffocatingly royal wherever he went. But now..._ _

__The feeling was so strange, that there was someone who saw who he was without a crown. She allowed him to help, however reluctantly, without worrying about who he was or if she needed to impress him. She didn't ask for any favors, like some were prone to. There were people who thought, for whatever reason, that in his busy schedule the prince would be able to find a way to reclaim a stolen item for them._ _

__But none of that happened to him. And he was glad._ _

__When he made it back to the castle, he buried himself in preparations for the ball. Banquet rooms, dancing halls, buffets, waiters, tapestries, flower arrangements, candle sizes, there was no detail to be overlooked. He wanted everything to be absolutely perfect, through it was unlikely that he would get to appreciate any of it come the actual ball. It felt good to have a project that others would remember._ _

__Not to mention, a distraction from dealing with his father._ _

__If things were tense before, they had escalated exponentially. Adrien and the king had always gotten along when they needed to. They loved each other. They were all the other had left in the world. But that didn't mean it came easily._ _

__For years after his mother died, they fought about everything. The king would pick about the littlest of details. Adrien's posture, the combing of his hair, the buttons on his shirts, the cuffs of his sleeves, the way he ate. At first it was little comments and disagreements, but as time ticked on, they grew ever more hostile. If the king was talking to Adrien, seconds later he was yelling._ _

__It was a torturous way to live. There wasn't a moment of peace when the two were in the room. And often, they ended up seclusion themselves in their chambers, not to be bothered for hours on end after their tiffs. Adrien spent most of the time tired and tense, waiting to be torn apart._ _

__But it was worse now. Because after the yelling wore off, after the verbal brawls and shouting matches without victors, there came the silence._ _

__Neither of them spoke to one another about anything but what they had to. "Good morning" was filled with tension and a refusal of eye contact. Adrien found ways to hold meetings with as many people as possible. He claimed it was to get approval of ideas, to work shop his plans, but he needed the buffers. With others in the room, they were less likely to talk directly to one another._ _

__It was hard being the leader and future leader of the kingdom, because people expected them to hold the sessions in their palms. Mostly, Adrien let his father talk while he held his tongue._ _

__Still, he looked to his father for approval he never got. He did everything he was asked with as little challenge as possible. He went on every journey to every kingdom and shook every hand. He attended every council meeting, large or small. Sometimes he ran the country virtually behind the king's back because of the impossibility of some of his demands. Adrien knew more than his father could ever ask for, and he thought his ideas were good. They were clever and beneficial. But the king never saw him, or them, that way._ _

__The few things they did agree on had been diluted on Adrien's end by several degrees. But he refused to complain._ _

__The king had been good to his people. There was no doubt surrounding the fact in Adrien's mind, until lately. It wasn't detrimental to the way of the land and the happiness of its citizens, but Adrien could feel the way the people looked at the crown._ _

__So he put all of his efforts into the celebration. He would try to convince disbelievers of the sincerity and generosity of the kingdom's rulers. He would try to keep the peace intact for as long as it would hold. And then, when he took the crown, he would hold to the promises he made._ _

__An older woman on the makeshift council of party planners held up two swatches of fabric for Adrien. They were completely identical except by feel. He selected the softer of the two._ _

__Another woman, with large brown eyes and a small scar on her chin asked him about his choice of flowers. He had been ruminating over the choice for a while, but that was the last day he could be hesitant, as the order had to be placed in advance for such a large request._ _

__"Iris, ivy, lavender, white roses, and purple tulips. As well as cattails. Please." Adrien, in hectic times, had to remind himself to be polite. He would say please and thank you if it killed him._ _

__"Cattails?" he heard someone ask. It wasn't meant for his ears, but he wanted to respond to it anyway. He might as well._ _

__"They symbolize peace and prosperity. And paired with purple violets for royalty, it makes sense." He smiled. "Cattails?" He pointed to the crest of his house emblazoned across his chest. "Get it?"_ _

__A wave of polite chuckles accompanied his lame attempt at humor._ _

__While half of the room went into talking about the pros and cons of a carpeted entryway, Adrien caught the attention of the flower coordinator. She was scribbling notes down on a scroll of paper as quickly as she could, attentively keeping track of everything that was said. Her handwriting was terrible, but he appreciated the effort._ _

__"At the lead table, at my father's seat, could you add a bouquet of white hydrangeas and daisies?" He waited for her nod before he uttered a thank you. He wasn't going to tell her what they meant, and he appreciated her not asking. But he thought his father might appreciate them. Understand them._ _

__Adrien smiled to himself, then chided himself. He needed to focus on the meeting. It was to be the last time half of these people would be assembled in one place before they had to travel to receive the shipments of fabrics, tapestries, candelabras, china, and flowers. He forced himself to pay attention as diligently as the girl with the scar on her chin._ _

__"What do you think, your Highness?"_ _

__Crap._ _

__"Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that."_ _

__The older woman who had shown him the fabrics earlier barely his her butter skepticism with a smile. "About the entryway. It is to be lined with guards and carpetry?" She stated it more like a demand than a question. It was very clear that she wanted the entryway to be lined with more of her fabrics. He wondered why. It would just be dirty. There was no need to absorb wetness from outside to prevent slipping, as the dry season was coming closer every day. And it would be a large expense that he wasn't quite willing to pay._ _

__"I think the guards will suffice. We don't want to overwhelm our guests, do we?" He pointed ironically to the lists of other materials that were required of them and got another polite round of chuckles from the room. The guarded giggles didn't reach the woman with the fabric, though. In fact, for the rest of the meeting, she didn't say a word._ _

__When everyone had run out of ideas, questions, and bones to pick, Adrien stood. "Shall we draw this meeting to a close?"_ _

__When a royal suggested something, it was to be done no matter what the individual wanted. Adrien knew this, but he could see relieved looks on the tired faces of the room. They had been planning for weeks now, but with the announcement earlier that weekend, everything increased in size and stress. The workload had doubled for all of those in the room._ _

__Adrien suddenly felt guilty again. He wanted to do well by his citizens, but these organizers were his people, too._ _

__He made the only decision he could think of that wouldn't hinder anyone too harshly. He went to the barracks immediately after the meeting, practically running down the stairs and skipping through the halls. He wanted to get there as soon as possible, so those who needed to travel would have his gifts before they left._ _

__The afternoon training was swiftly drawing to a close as Adrien entered the fields. He scanned the cacophonous crowd of clashing metal and muffled gasps, trying to sense more than see his target._ _

__Some guards closer to him paused hesitantly in their training to eye him. He didn't want to impose, but his presence was a force into itself. Sometimes he really despised the attention he got._ _

__When he spotted the second in command, a young, large man who somehow managed to look friendly even with a scowl, he waved him over._ _

__Adrien tried not to look too eager, but he could feel the furrow in his brow and the ruffle of his hair. While the large man walked over to where Adrien stood, Adrien smoothed down his hair and clothing. His heart was pounding, and he wasn't sure if it was from the short run or excitement. Perhaps both._ _

__"Your Highness," he said with a deep bow. It was impressive the gracefulness that had been trained into him after years of living in the barracks. Adrien remembered the bundle of suppressed rage and angst that he used to be before he found an outlet in his training. It took him years, but he developed into one of the happiest people Adrien knew. It was a good change for him._ _

__"Good morning, Ivan. I have a request." He spoke before Ivan had completely come up from his bow. He wanted to be done with this project and go on to the next one._ _

__"Name it, Your Highness."_ _

__"First, call me Adrien." He tried to smile playfully, but being called 'Your Highness' rubbed him the wrong way. It wasn't Ivan's fault. They had never met in a casual enough situation for Adrien to tell him about his peeve. A question mark appeared across Ivan's face. "There's no need to refer to me as your highness. My name will suffice."_ _

__"Of course, Your- Adrien." They shared uncomfortable smiles._ _

__"I need to request escorts for some hands of mine who are traveling to collect supplies for the ball. I believe they deserve support and some of your people deserve a day out of the routine." It was known that guard duty was one of the most menial and boring tasks one could be assigned. Nothing ever happened in the kingdom of Agres, so there was never anything to do. Fights between drunken brawlers were the most interesting activities guards had to deal with. Crimes were a rarity._ _

__"I'm not sure if-"_ _

__"Only a few guards each, or course. We have three caravans headed out, each will need, say, three or four posts. We have quite a haul to bring back in preparation for the ball. There are many things to be done."_ _

__"Indeed, Your-"_ _

__"Adrien."_ _

__"Adrien. Yes. But I am not sure there are adequate resources for your request." It seemed to physically pain Ivan to turn down the acquisition. His shoulders crunched together and his normally friendly stature became shrunken and withdrawn._ _

__"What do you mean?"_ _

__"The king has ordered extra patrols along every main road for a hundred miles as traffic increases for the ball. People are already traveling for the event, hundreds by the day. They are ripe for the picking for thieves and bandits without the aid of the King's Guard."_ _

__Adrien looked behind Ivan to where a hundred people trained to hone their skills and strengthen their arm. "Why are these troops not put to work?"_ _

__"They have been, Your Highness. This group runs night patrol. They have been resting, but many have come to spend their free time in the field."_ _

__"Is it impossible to spare ten men?" It seemed like a simple request. Adrien didn't understand why it couldn't be met._ _

__Ivan thought for a long moment. He looked past Adrien, across the field of training crowds, a finger to his chin. It took him longer than Adrien would have wanted to get a response. Finally, he gave a shrug. "Yes, perhaps I can pull a few. I'll collect them." He looked to Adrien for a dismissal and the prince nodded._ _

__Adrien watched as the large man weaved skillfully through the swarm of training men and women. He tapped his foot quickly, his entire body bouncing with anxious energy. He truthfully didn't know when the caravans planned to leave, so haste was his best option. He could see Ivan's tall form merging back and forth through the field, followed by an ever increasing train of people._ _

__When Ivan made it back to Adrien, he had collected seven troops: three men and four women. Adrien acknowledged them with a slight nod, and Ivan turned to them._ _

__"You have been selected for a special duty by the prince." The large man turned to Adrien with words only for him. "I'm sorry there aren't more of them. We can only spare so many, but I swear, they are good men. Only the best for the prince, Your Highness."_ _

__Adrien ignored the tingling of aggravation by his last words, but smiled anyway. "It is no matter. The men and women of the Agres army are the best in the land. I'm sure they will get the job done perfectly." He turned his smile to the seven assembled before him. "You are to accompany three caravans to their destinations and bring them home safely. They are carrying supplies needed for the ball, and must make a swift return. Do this well, and I will make sure each and every one of you have a free night to join in the merriment."_ _

__Their eyes widened slightly with surprise, but they retained their composure. One man's smile broke in spite of him, and he cleared his throat to cover his slip. Ivan looked none too pleased, but Adrien was glowing._ _

__However, there still weren't enough hands to cover everything that needed to be done. He thought for a moment before coming up with a solution._ _

__"You three," he pointed to the first people he saw, "will be attending to Madame Caquet. You three, with the Aza family. And you," he pointed to the last person remaining, a small girl with a sternly rigid back, "will accompany the Cesaires. They will be meeting by the castle gates at any time now, so you must collect your belongings and meet with them. I will send word of your arrival. Please make haste."_ _

__"You are dismissed," Ivan told them after a nod from Adrien. The seven troops marched and ran back through the crowd. Ivan turned to Adrien. "Should you have assigned her alone? Our men are good, but one will be useless against a raid."_ _

__"I am aware," Adrien told him. "She won't be alone. I must leave. I have many arrangements to make."_ _

__"Of course." Ivan bowed deeply as Adrien turned and began walking hurriedly from the training fields. He didn't know where Nino might be, but he had an idea._ _

__"I should have guessed," Adrien's voice startled Nino as he shoved yet another pastry into his mouth. "Patrols are kind to you."_ _

__Nino looked up from where he was leaning against the brick wall of the bakery. The first batches of the day had become too old to sell, so this specific establishment gave them away. Nino took full advantage of the free treats._ _

__"You know it," he smiled through a full mouth._ _

__"Where are your manners? We're in public."_ _

__"What are these... 'manners' you speak of?"_ _

__Adrien let out a chuckle and lightly punched Nino's arm. Nino punched him back, much harder. "Dammit," he muttered and rubbed his arm._ _

__"What do you need?" Nino asked._ _

__Adrien grimaced. "Am I that predictable?"_ _

__Nino shrugged light heartedly and took another bite of his pastry. "You can't help being needy. You were raised that way." They smiled to each other, despite the words stinging._ _

__Is that what Nino thought of him?_ _

__It didn't matter._ _

__"Well, in fact, I need you to accompany a caravan to pick up flowers for the ball."_ _

__"Flowers?"_ _

__"Yes, flowers. I know. It's not the most glamorous aspect of being a guard, but it is important, and no one else is available to do it. My father has increased patrols-"_ _

__"Yeah, yeah. I know, you trust me more than anyone else and love me and will pay me back for my support of your whims."_ _

__"It is not a whim!" Nino laughed at him. "It is my duty."_ _

__"As party planner?"_ _

__"Yes!"_ _

__Adrien realized how ridiculous his life had become. Really? He was going to be the king in less than six months and he was organizing a ball to meet a girl because his father didn't trust him with anything else. He joined in on Nino's laughter._ _

__"You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness."_ _

__"You'll do it?"_ _

__"Of course I will." Adrien couldn't help but notice the same words being echoed from Ivan. "You're my friend, remember?"_ _

__A burst of warmth spread through Adrien's belly. He wasn't sure he had ever heard those words addressed to him. "Friend" was not something he had really associated with himself. He had always thought of Nino as his friend, there was no doubt. But to have someone consider him a friend was new territory._ _

__He couldn't keep a smile from passing his lips._ _

__"I remember," he assured his friend._ _

__"Alright. Where am I off to?" Nino asked and promptly smushed the rest of the pastry into his mouth, chewing contentedly._ _

__Adrien told him where to go, and off he went, through the small stream of people in the street. He watched as he disappeared around a corner and smiled again._ _

__He began his walk back to the castle when he spotted a shop that caught his interest. He entered the little establishment and bought several things, carrying them in his arms all the way back to castle grounds._ _

__He had the gift wrapped in a nice box with a satin bow and gave it to one of the castle messengers, signed:_ _

___a friend ____ _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we start forging a new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super short, sorry about that, I just want to get going to, you know, plot and such. Still, I have a feeling you won't mind ;)

Nino clapped his hands together to get rid of the spare crumbs that stuck to his fingers. The bakery he frequented was always willing to give guards more than their share of free goodies. He suspected it was to get on the good side if the need ever arose for force. Nino didn't mind. In the meantime, he had a mid-to-late afternoon snack to look forward to every time he had patrols.

Which was too often.

He would much rather have some special assignment from Adrien, or even just not patrol. Anything to save him from the mundane task of walking for hours on end with nothing to look forward to. 

It was a good thing - a great thing - to live in a kingdom as peaceful and beautiful and calm as Agres. But damn if it wasn't always calm. When you were a guard, you had nothing to do. Ever.

Nino took refuge in the little tasks he was assigned to daily that differed from the day before. He loved when he went off on his own to do something that would take him hours. Because then he could stretch those two or three hours into four or five. And maybe get a pastry even if he wasn't on patrol. 

As he walked back through his patrol route for the day, he smiled and waved at familiar faces. It was a friendly place to live if there ever was one. People were more than willing to lend a kind word or helping hand. He really did enjoy his city. He loved protecting it.

He didn't know the Cesaire's personally, he had never spoken to them, but he knew of them. Mostly from passing by their shop every time he exited the main castle gates, as their shop was located immediately outside of the central walls, but also from their renown. They were quite a popular shop; everyone who was anyone, apparently, went to the storefront to buy flowers for their wedding or birthday or afternoon tea if they were feeling extra cheeky.

Nino had never been inside, but he enjoyed the smell of the flowers as he passed almost daily. They littered the outside of the shop. The little building was overflowing with flowers of every kind, barely contained by the protective gate that marked the boundaries of the property. 

As he approached the shop, the heady scent of lilies and roses filled his nose. The spring blossoms spread their pollen across the cobblestone for blocks in every direction. The soft yellow dust became a blanket that padded his steps the closer he got. 

He spotted the carriage as it loaded several large wooden crates into the back. The horses harnessed to the front looked agitated and anxious, ready to be off. A girl with long brunette hair tried to quiet them with soothing coos. 

Nino approached the carriages and shook the hand of the man sitting at the reins. 

"Hello," he proclaimed, extending his hand forward to shake. The boy seemed young, but he had a firm grip on the reins. "I am to be escorting you to you-"

"Woah!" The brunette who was seconds ago tending to the horses was now inches from his nose. "What do you think you're doing, boy?"

Nino reeled back from her proximity, then straightened his lapel. "Hello," he tried again, with an outstretched hand. "I am to be escorting you to-"

"We already have an escort, thank you." She rolled her eyes and turned her back on him, pointing off to nowhere in particular. Nino looked towards her gesture, but only found the boy at the reins smiling down at him. 

"She's not gonna like you," the boy said through a giggle. 

Nino shook off the words and followed the girl. "No matter, the prince has requested I escort you." He was just about to follow her around the horses when she appeared in front of him again, startling him. 

He swallowed a small gasp and righted his square spectacles on his nose. 

"Oh, the prince?"

"Indeed."

She inched closer to him, coming within inches. Nino refused to lean back, instead raising his chin to her challenge. She glared at him for a long moment, eyeing him up and down.

As quickly as she had come, she disappeared around the horses. 

"Nice to meet you. It's always nice to have an extra pair of hands." She forced him to follow to keep up with her words. He chased her around the horses, where she tightened their already secure harnesses, and then continued toward the cart behind them. "I'm Alya, that little dude up there is the cousin, Jean. He came up to help with the whole royal wedding or whatever."

"It's not actually a wedd-" 

"And that over there is the original escort, Hannah." She pointed to the girl who was talking with an older couple within the gates of the property. "Funny girl, that one. She likes to talk."

Nino laughed to himself. To what standard was she holding her?

"And you are?" She was in front of him again. 

He couldn't contain the gasp that time and staggered back a step to avoid clashing skulls. "Would you stop that?" 

"Stop what? What's your name, boy?" She smiled coyly to him. He saw what she was doing, but it annoyed him nonetheless. 

"My name is Nino."

"Great." She hefted a large crate into his arms that he was forced to catch. "That goes in the back. Don't drop it, that's my stuff. It's fragile. Be careful." The box was incredibly heavy. It weighed down his body and nearly crippled his arms. He lugged the wooden box to the back of the cart, wondering what in the world she could possibly keep that would be so heavy. 

It rattled as he set it down, but he didn't inquire any further. He was getting quite tired of introductions. 

"When do we head out?"

Alya eyes him from where she sat on another set of crates, her legs crossed languidly. "Now. What do you think we're doing?" She gave him another smile and raised her chin ever so slightly. Nino huffed out a sigh. 

It was going to be a long trip.

"Alya, my dear, stop harassing this poor boy," the man whom Nino assumed to be Alya's father chided as he emerged from his shop. "There's work to be done. It's not every day that the prince himself requests our services."

Alya softened significantly when talking to her father. "Well, it practically is. He orders from us enough."

"And we take every pride in the responsibility."

"Of providing him with scented center pieces?"

That earned her a glare. "It is more than the item itself. It is the ambiance. The-"

"Aesthetic," Alya wiggled her fingers sarcastically through the air. Her father didn't catch up on the irony.

"Exactly! We're selling aesthetic." He leaned in close and spoke through the side of his mouth. "And for a good price, too." He nudged his daughter with his elbow and she gave in with a giggle. She looked up at him with barely contained admiration. 

"So don't mess it up," her father warned her sternly, the broke the reminder with a smile. She returned it heartily. 

With a sigh, she stood and picked up the crate she had been sitting on, turning to the back of the cart, which happened to be where Nino was standing, watching the whole encounter. She stopped when she saw him, her smile dropping. 

"What?"

His own smile grew bigger. "Oh, nothing." Her peeved snarl earned her a laugh from him. 

She practically threw the crate she held at him, hiding her smile with contempt. "Get to work." 

With the cart loaded up and the sun beginning to set on the horizon, Alya and her cousin waved to her parents. The couple stood walked with them to the end of the street, and waved them off with requests of safe returns. Alya promised a swift delivery and a large payout, to which her father responded with a "That's my girl!"

Alya wiped the smile off of her face when she turned to see Nino watching her farewell to her parents. He walked beside the carriage as Hannah on the other side. She rode in the tall cart, clutching loose crates as she sat on them to keep them secure. But his smug grin was visible nonetheless. 

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." He smiled broadly and turned to watch the passing of the houses and shops. 

"Shut up," he heard her mutter. He giggled childishly and picked up his pace to match speed with the horses driving the carriage. 

They walked and rode through the city tirelessly until they came to the edge of the capitol. They were to sleep at the inn for travelers in the outer ring and start their trek early the next morning to make the best time possible. Nino and Hannah guarded the carriage in shifts all night, while Alya and her cousin were allowed to sleep. 

As they settled into bed at the inn, Hannah took first watch, claiming that she wasn't tired. Nino accepted this and sat in the corner of the small room they rented. There was a single bed and table with two chairs. Alya and Jean took the bed without discussion and Nino sat quietly in the corner, leaning his head back to rest. 

"Goodnight," he whispered to the air when he heard soft snoring coming from the bed.

"Shut up," he hears a whisper back, sending him to sleep with a smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which angst happens and I'm so sorry it furthers the plot I promise I'm not trying to be cruel I love my children and I don't want to hurt them I just want them to Suffer. But then Adrinette makes it better. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I've had it in the works for almost a month now, and I have too many other ideas to get stuck on this one. Be that in mind, enjoy!!!

Marinette was going stir crazy. After a disastrous incident involving a soup ladle, a skilfully thrown lamb chop thanks to Manon, and Chloe’s left stocking, Rose and Juleka no longer allowed her to serve the cousins or her step-siblings. Not only that, but they refused to let her do any chores, stating that her leg and hands were still too injured to allow her to do any work. 

Apparently, in their house, whenever a girl was hurt, they sent her to bed for no less than a week to make sure that she was completely healed before doing any work that may hurt her further. There must have been many injuries, Marinette thought, because Nadja and Caline had made it very obvious that any misstep by their staff would be met with lashings. 

It seemed that Rose and Juleka wanted to prevent such dangers to the girl, as they kept her as far away from the main house as possible. 

Marinette would have none of this. It felt strange not having anything to do as she sat on her bed, the two other girls occasionally stopping in to begin lunch, grab some towels to clean a spill, or to start of various other chills around the house. 

She resigned herself to her fate of nothingness in her room for almost an hour.

After Rose had gone off to make the special poultice for Nadja’s face that she claimed to be anti-aging and Juleka was cleaning the bathrooms, Marinette snuck out into her garden. 

It had been too long since she was able to dig her fingers into the dirt like she loved to do. It had felt like an eternity over the last couple of days, and she knew that doing work was her only way to escape the mindless suffering that awaited her in her room. 

Marinette thought too much when she had nothing to do. Sitting alone in her bedroom, she began drifting into thoughts of her father. How would he see her now, when she had wounds on both hands? Would he wipe away the tears that were bound to come? Would he hug her close and be sure that no harm would come to her? Whenever she had fallen or hurt herself, he would take it upon himself to treat her. There was no medicine like love, he would say, as he bandaged the wound with a kiss and a smile. Then, to prevent her crying, to relieve the hurt, he would take her to the field behind the house and they would play for hours. 

They would chase each other and the butterflies that flitted from flowers across the airwaves. They would search for worms in the ground, and promise to go fishing and throw back the fish. They would climb trees, and her father would be there under her, encouraging her to go farther, even though it was scary. He would be there if she fell, he told her. He was always there. Even when Madame got angry with him for spending so much time outside, he would find ways to escape with his daughter. 

And her mother…

If her mother were there, would she even know what she would do?

Marinette’s mother had died when she was young. She barely had time to form memories with her. She could clearly see in her mind’s eye the black hair that so resembled hers, the brown eyes that contained the light of the sun. She remembered the soft hands that would hold her face be she laughing or crying, and the lips that would kiss her forehead and whisper to her that everything was going to be alright. Even in her deathbed, her only thought was of her daughter. 

Marinette couldn’t stand the thoughts that intruded when she was still. She wrapped her hair into a scrap of fabric that wouldn’t attract the heat like her dark head would. She took off the shoes she had borrowed from Rose. They were the closest fit between the girls, but they were still too large. Her feet swam in the slippers, making every step she took awkward and off-balance. She tied her dress to the side, picking it up past her knees so it would be out of her way when she stepped around her plants. 

She grabbed her tools and stepped as quickly and quietly as she could to escape from the kitchens. It was at least ten degrees cooler outside than inside, though the summer heat was coming quickly. The kitchen was fond of holding all the heat it produced from the ovens, even when the door and the window were opened wide. 

Marinette took a deep breath as soon as she came to the small plot of land that she considered payment for her services at the mansion. The air smelled like freshness and cleanliness. It wrapped itself around her and soothed the furrows in her brow. 

She set her tools down in the ground. They were old and worn, having been used for so many years. The old metal utensils had been one of the first things she had bartered for. She saw the shining molded steel and a conviction fell upon her to get them no matter the cost. Of course, the cost had been too high, but she didn’t care. They had lasted her this long, and that’s all she asked. 

She went to work in her garden, removing weeds that always threatened to take up the nutrients meant for her food. It was tricky to pull up the entirety of the root to prevent the weeds from growing back, but she managed to persuade the little parasitic sprouts from the soil. 

She watered every plant individually, taking extra care with those that looked malnourished. A tune came to her head that she couldn’t help but humming. The short phrase lilted through her head and she let it escape her lips, helping to relax her shoulders as she dug through the dirt. The sun beat down on her back and sweat sprung onto her forehead. 

She heard the horse coming down the lane before she saw the dust cloud it rose. So enraptured by the song that stuck in her head she was, she barely noticed it until it was at the door. 

The messenger had let himself off his steed and was walking up the stairs by the time she had made it out of the garden. 

“Excuse me!” she called. The messenger turned his head, saw her, dirt covering her hands, and raised his lip in a disapproving snarl. She ignored the look of distaste and approached him. He tried to keep walking toward the door and pretend he had never seen her, but she ran ahead of him to prevent him from getting to the door. Her leg, although it had been feeling much better than the day before, protested slightly against the strain. 

“Excuse me!” she told him again, stopping directly in front of him, between his hand raised to knock and the door he was planning to knock on. “Do you have a message?” she asked him very pointedly, putting out her own hand to tell him to give her whatever it was he had. 

“For the master of the house,” he told her. 

She tutted sarcastically. “See, all messages go through me before they go to the mistress of the house.” She reminded him of her outstretched hand by shaking it slightly. He didn’t seem to get the message. “So if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to give the message to my mistress.” It almost hurt her to call Madame her mistress, but she didn’t appreciate the attitude this man exuded. 

He glared for several more seconds before giving up the package he had hidden behind his back. 

“Thank you,” she replied with a tilt of the head, and watched him retreat back to his horse and ride away. She didn’t move to look at the package she had been given until she watched the dust trail settle completely to the ground. 

She glanced between the package and the opened gates of the mansion where he had disappeared as she walked back into the house. Closing the door behind her, she had a chance to read the card that was tied carefully to the top. Her mind refused to comprehend. It took several readings and rereadings for the message to absorb fully into her. 

For the step daughter of Madame Mendeleive,

You left yours behind the last time we met.  
I assumed you would need another pair.

A friend. 

It was for her? 

She never got packages?

Was this a mistake?

Who would send her something in the first place, and what was it?

Questions flooded her brain until she couldn’t think. She stood, staring at the box in her hands, unable to form a proper thought, unable to even move. She finally looked around the entrance corridor, making sure no one was there to find her holding the box tied specially in a bow. Luckily, the grand hallway was barren and silent. 

She didn’t know where the cousins were, but she didn’t care. She had another mystery to solve. 

Carefully, as if she were going to break it, she began to open the box. The ribbon was expertly tied around the parcel, and with a single pull of the loose end, it unraveled to the stark whiteness of the paper box. It had already been smudged with the dirt coating her fingers, but she paid it no mind. The lid of the box opened easily, revealing layers of colorful, thin paper. 

Peeling back the paper, she found nestled within beautifully crafted leather slippers. A soft gasp escaped her lips as the beheld them. The brown surface shone with polish, but even so they looked deliciously comfortable. Beside them lay several pairs of thick wool socks, the designs braided and striped in masterful patterns. When she touched them, she reveled in the softness that she found. They were quite possibly the sweetest things she had ever felt. 

Inexplicably, she found her heart racing. 

“What is this?” 

Her heart plummeted into her stomach as Madame Bustier walked through the entryway. Hands reflexively covered the box in her hands with the lid, trying to hide it from the prying eyes of the house. And especially of Madame Bustier. 

“It’s nothing,” she blurted, her mouth speaking before her mind. That answer simply would not do. 

Caline stalked forward to where Marinette huddled by the door. “It certainly doesn’t look like nothing, does it?” The malicious underbelly of Madame Bustier roared out from her dangerous whisper. A burst of anger formed in her eyes, coloring them black for a moment before they returned to their callous, cold blue. 

“No, I mean, of course not.” Marinette struggled to recover her words. “It’s just… it’s a package. For Chloe. I was just going to take it to her.” She attempted to duck past Caline, but the woman had a different plan. She was not going to let the girl off so easily. 

“Oh deary, I heard about your accident. You must be exhausted. Let me take it for you.”

She snaked her hands out towards Marinette, who instinctively recoiled from the touch. “No!” screamed from her lips. They were hers, and they would not be taken away. But that was no way to speak to the lady of the house.

Madame Bustier looked as shocked as Marinette felt. Both of their eyes flew open wide. Marinette’s empty hand flew to her mouth, covering it in horror. 

“Excuse me?”

“I’m so sorry.” She began stammering out apologies. She tried to make up for her outburst that had ne explanation. She tried to recover from her mistake. She tried to take it all back. 

But the words had been said, and there was no taking it back. 

Caline grabbed her firmly by the upper arm with amazing strength and began marching down the hall. Marinette was dragged behind her. Her leg had decided to give out completely, so she limped along hurriedly, unable to keep up with the determined pace of her aunt. She was half-dragged, half-carried down the hall, toward the parlor room where the other ladies of the house were most likely still having tea. 

The door crashed inward as Marinette stumbled into it with a push from Caline. The box in her hand spilled onto the floor as she did, hitting the bruises on her hands and her leg simultaneously. 

The activity in the room that once existed was sucked out with the action. Madame Bustier stood behind Marinette, imposing and fearsome. Though her dress and hair remained in perfect condition, she insisted on smoothing them both down. Tension increased in the room. Every eye was on Marinette was she huddled on the floor. She curled completely into herself in an attempt to hide from the prying eyes, but they found her wherever she went. 

Marinette looked over to where Rose was pouring tea. She had been stopped mid-pour, and a tea cookie had found its way to the floor in the chaos of the tumble. The two made eye contact, Rose with shocked concern, and Marinette with worried question. What was happening? she asked through her look. What was going to happen?

Rose didn’t seem to have an answer. 

Madame Bustier stepped over the girl on the ground and bent down daintily to pick up the shoes on the floor. All eyes turned to her, the only one who dared to move in the stillness of the room. She stood and examined them on the tip of her finger. The rest of the room remained silent as they watched her. Questions were on everyone’s lips, but Caline was the first to ask, directed towards Marinette. 

“Where did you get these?”

“They were a gift,” she replied quickly. 

“Ridiculous. Who would give you such a gift? What friends do you have?” The words were true to Marinette, but the confirmation of her loneliness stung. She shrunk away from the spite in the words. “I ask you again, where did you get these?”

Marinette looked away, searching the room for an answer. She met every eye in the room, all of them trained diligently to her again. She could feel their gazes like a physical weight. They clogged themselves in her throat and made it impossible to speak. She could barely breathe. 

“You petulant girl!” Caline shrieked with a swift kick to her leg. Her already bruised shin screamed under the assault, but Marinette’s body refused to react. She was completely frozen in abject terror. “Where did you get these? Did you steal them?”

“No!”

“Then you stole the money to get them!”

“No, I swear, I didn’t! They were a gift.”

“Liar. Who did you steal them from?”

“I didn’t steal them! Please!”

“Who did you take the money from, child? Answer me!”

“I stole them!”

All heads turned to the new voice. Rose had set down the teapot and stood in resolution. Her fists were gripped tightly by her sides and she raised her chin as high as she could. Her lips were set in a solid line, but you could see them shaking. Fear formed itself in her eyes, hidden behind determination. 

“No! Rose!” Marinette gripped at the skirts of Madame Bustier. “No, she didn’t! I stole them. I stole them! Please!” She couldn’t get her to take eyes off of Rose. She tried to grip onto the soft fabrics of the skirt and keep her away, but she advanced towards the small girl. The silks slipped from Marinette’s hands as she sobbed. “Please, no!”

“Is this true?” Caline raised the shoe to eye level in front of Rose, swinging it slightly. “You stole them?”

“No!” Marinette insisted, at the same time Rose claimed, “In a matter of speaking, yes.”

Madame Chamack spoke out. “Explain.”

“I stole the monies from your coin purse, Madame,” she curtsied for effect. “And I told Marinette to pick up the shoes from town. I told her they were for Chloe, so she wouldn’t ask any questions.”

Marinette’s protests dissolved into pleading whispers. The world stood still while it waited for Madame Bustier to pass judgement. Marinette knew not what would happen if she were found guilty. But she knew, whatever it was, she would rather endure it than have another take her punishment for her. She would never be able to forgive herself if anything bad happened to her friend by a fault of her own. 

Caline took a breath and the others in the room leaned forward to hear her decision. All ears were tuned in very carefully to her words. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. 

A deep sigh emanated from Caline. Her shoulders collapsed and a very tired look appeared on her face that Marinette had never seen before. Rose’s face became stoic and resolute. 

“I must say, darling. I am very disappointed in you.” Slowly, she drifted over to the calling bell at the wall. She rang it twice and folded her hands in front of her, looking carefully around the room. 

Moments later, Juleka emerged from the servant’s corridors. She faltered when she took in the state of the room. Tears were streaming down Marinette’s face where she lay on the floor. Rose was shaking at the end of the room. Madame Caline held a leather shoe in her hand while the others stared. 

“Juleka, take Rose and prepare her for her punishment.” 

Juleka took a moment to process the information. Rose stiffened and fought back the tears that began to brim in her eyes. The taller of the two looked to Marinette, both questioning the other. What was happening? What was going to happen?

“Now!” 

Juleka was kick started into action. She took Rose carefully by the arm and led her away. Marinette watched as they disappeared back down the corridor Juleka had appeared from. The room went back to silence. 

Caline stepped carefully towards Marinette. Her gesture was almost motherly as she offered to lift the girl off of the ground. 

“Come,” she demanded softly. Not only Marinette, but the rest of the room stood and followed her down the hallway. As a herd, they walked into the back part of the house, where it opened up into a lush yard. Juleka and Rose were already there, by a tree that framed the back doors. Juleka held a rope in her hand and something else that Marinette couldn’t identify. 

Rose offered her hands over to Juleka and she tied the rope around one hand. Juleka looked the small girl in the eyes and whispered something to her. Rose tried to give a small smile, but it didn’t fully form, landing somewhere between a grimace and a sneer. The two walked to the tree and Rose hugged it, allowing Juleka to tie both of her hands around the tree so Rose’s cheek bit into the bark. The tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes made dark spots on the surface of the tree. 

The group of women walked down the steps and onto the porch overlooking the backyard. Rose and Juleka were a significant distance away, but Marinette could see everything in horrific detail. 

When Juleka had finished preparing, she stood to the side with the black stick in her hand. Madame called across the yard. 

“Begin.”

Juleka walked to Rose and whispered things to her as she worked on the dress. She pulled it down to her waist, exposing the whole of her back. Marinette could have retched. 

The entirety of the girl’s back, where it should have been smooth and pink, was covered in scars. White, almost pearlescent lines marred her back as reminders for past injuries. From her neck to the small of her back, rivulets cascaded in intricate patterns. How many there were, Marinette couldn’t be sure. 

Juleka backed away and held the black stick in her hand. It unraveled suddenly to reveal the long leather strap that extended off of one end. The leather strip was cut at the end into three even sections that whistled through the air as Juleka hurled them at Rose. 

The crack of the whip at the resulting shout from the girl tied to the tree sent Marinette’s mind reeling. 

What was happening?

What had she done?

Her vision swam with red. Her stomach churned and she felt its contents rising in her throat. When she stumbled away from the porch, she couldn’t walk in a straight line. Her feet twisted with one another and she fell hard on the gravel path of the yard. 

She found herself running, though she didn’t remember how she stood. She felt her feet pounding into the ground, her bare toes stinging with every step. Wind slapped her cheeks with uncanny bitterness. The warmth of the sun had all but disappeared behind dark clouds. A rare storm was rolling in, the sky roiling in time with her stomach. 

She wanted to pitch over and empty the barely full contents of her belly. She wanted the tears that were flowing from her eyes to come back and ravage her cheeks like the opening sky was. She wanted to scream louder than the furious winds. But she could only run. 

Her feet carried her over grass, through trees, and along dirt paths that had turned to mud in the storm. The brown sludge splashed up the back of her legs, matching the dirty stains on her dress that was too worn to give any warmth in the chilling afternoon. She had forgotten completely about the pain that was minutes ago spreading through her leg and her hands. No longer did she feel the pain of her own. 

Instead, she felt everything that Rose must have been feeling. Her back stung with the whips that felt like fire. Her mind imagined the worst possibilities. She felt like she was dying, but she kept on running. 

As the first summer storm broke, she found where her body had been leading her. 

The willow tree was a surprisingly familiar sight for the amount of times she had visited the weeping branches of the grotto. The grey sky cast delicate light over the meadow as she approached the brook. Barely any light made it through the canopy of leaves and branches, leaving Marinette in a darkness that matched her mood. 

Numbness that had earlier overtaken her ebbed, leaving her with overwhelming feeling. Her bare feet ached from her running. What had taken her on horseback barely five minutes must have taken her a half hour on foot. Her heart pounded in her chest, making her throat sore with strain. She hadn’t noticed the dry tears falling from her eyes until she collapsed onto the soft, long grass along the bank of the stream.

Her breath heaved itself out in painful bursts. The cloth wrapping her hair from her face had come undone and disappeared, leaving her hair frazzled and unkempt. She let herself curl into a tight ball in the comforting solidarity of the grass. The enclosed space she found herself in echoed the cavernous emptiness in her chest. She breathed deeply through the vacancy of her lungs, trying to break up the tension that held her captive, though the strain wouldn’t leave her. 

She watched the water in fascination. The swirling eddies and rippling waters wrapped themselves around her mind. They called to her as they twisted among themselves. They felt so welcoming. She crawled to the bank of the stream and brushed her hand along the surface of the water. The freezing cold stabbed into her fingers, bringing another sensation that was something different from the dull pain of guilt she felt swelling in her chest. 

She splashed her hand into the water and contained a hiss as the icy pains that flooded her senses. It was a soothing distraction. But it wasn’t enough. She cupped a handful of water in her hand and washed it over her face. 

Her body did what she couldn’t bring herself to do. She stood steadily and tip toed into the shallow brook. Her toes squished through the watery mud that felt so different from the soil of her garden. The tides made their way only to mid calf, but the relieving stinging sensation spread up to her core. Still, it didn’t reach the tightness that still built in her chest. 

She sat heavily in the stream and laid back in the water. 

Her entire body was encased in freezing liquid. She felt as though she had been soaked in ice. Her loose hair flowed behind her through the eddies of the water, and her dress billowed to either side as she let herself float in the inches of water. She allowed her arms to swim to the sides, the stream so narrow she could touch either bank with her arm span, and stared up at what little she could see of the sky through the canopy. The grey clouds were evaporating in the sun, which peaked its bright head around increasingly fluffy vapors every now and again. The brightness hurt her eyes, but she stared until she couldn’t bare to look anymore. The water had soaked her entire bodice through, and was finally cooling the knot in her chest. She took deep breaths and allowed her thoughts to be washed away. 

The wind made a reappearance, the willow branches pulsed and stirred, and a beautiful music mixed with the water rushing past her ears. The birds started emerging after the light summer storm, calling out that all was safe. She listened to their private concert and closed her eyes. 

New, unfamiliar chords entered the chorus. A thick, heady music filled her submerged ears. The dissonance of the song echoed to her and replaced the emptiness in her breast. Slowly, the clanging melody became a lilting tune that she recognized and she fell deeper. 

She felt the water around her shift and her eyes opened lazily. A smiling yet concerned face looked over her. 

He spoke so lightly she couldn’t hear him through the water surrounding her ears. She sat up and asked him to repeat himself.

“Your lips are turning blue,” he told her again, eyebrows cinching. 

Her hand came to her lips and she felt the coldness that surrounded her, finally. She found she was shivering. “Oh,” she stated emptily. 

He held out his hand and she grabbed it without thought. He reacted harshly to her hand and looked up at her with new found concern, but helped her stand up nonetheless. “You’re freezing,” he told her, as if she didn’t know. She stared blankly. 

He lead her from the pool of water. She saw how he had taken off his shoes and rolled up the hem of his pants to step into the water to her. She stepped carefully across the bank and back into the tall grass that tickled at her shins. They walked from the water and to the roots of the great willow, where it was significantly drier. He helped her sit down on a protruding root and removed his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. Crouching beneath her, her rubbed her shoulders vigorously and looked at her vacant expression. 

She couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” His questions were frequent, but she wouldn't answer. Every time he spoke, she retreated further away into her mind. Eventually, he stopped trying to talk to her and sat behind her, hugging her close to him to give her his heat. He hummed lightly the tune that had been floating through her head as she floated in the water, and she found new warmth blossoming in her stomach. 

Butterflies shook themselves from their watery cocoons and suckled at the blossoming flowers that rooted in her stomach. They fluttered their wings in her belly as the castle guard cared for her. She sunk deeper into his embrace with thoughtless comfort, enjoying every bit of his presence. The tune he hummed wrapped the new butterflies in a whirlwind, and her new warmth brought heat to her cheeks. 

Thoughts registered in her head what and where she was. Her body flung itself from where it was cradled in his arms and she turned to look at him. Both of their eyes had been wrenched open as they stared at each other. 

He was the first to speak.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I mean, I was trying - but I don’t want you to think… I mean, I wasn’t trying - I didn’t mean anything...” He stammered on for several seconds as Marinette stared at him. She was having a hard time processing what she was feeling. 

She stopped his ranting with a hand. “Thank you.” 

A moment passed between them. 

Blushes spread across both of their cheeks.

A smile broke across his face. He offered a hand to her. “I realize I never got your name.”

She took his hand, so warm in her still freezing one, and shook. “Marinette,” she whispered shyly. 

“Adrien,” he stated, and a look of shock flashed across his face. He pulled his hand away, leaving Marinette with realization. 

“Adrien?” she processed the news. “As in Adrien Agreste?” He looked uncomfortable. “The prince?” She would have been shocked by the nod of his head if she hadn’t been so far from herself still. It was an interesting prospect, really. What chances would have brought them together. “Huh.”

She thought to herself how she should have gotten up to bow. She should make some grand gesture and kiss his feet, kiss the very ground he walked on. She should offer to wash off his hand that had been tainted with her presence. She should have lessened herself to his greatness, but his look told her that she was right where she needed to be. 

He looked confused, but comforted. 

“You’re not going to bow, are you?” He tried to laugh around his words, but the hopeful disbelief permeated every syllable. 

She smiled. “I would, but my leg still hurts.” Tension broke with their laughter. 

“How is your leg? Have you gotten better?” 

Marinette smiled to him. “I have, thank you. My aunts brought help with them while they’re visiting for the ball. Your ball, I guess.” She couldn’t quite believe she was talking to a prince. The prince. “But Rose knows how to make healing poultices.” She absently unwrapped the cloth from her hands and looked at the almost fully healed scabs that once marred her. The herbs had really helped. 

“That’s amazing,” he said, looking at her hands. 

“Yes.” 

Silence settled over them. Adrien couldn’t help but notice her lack of shoes. 

“Did you,” he began, pointing at her bare feet. “Did you get them?”

The connection took Marinette several moments to make. She shook her head. “Yes.” A glowing smile passed over his face. “Thank you, but-” the smile faded “-that is a kindness that I ask you do not repeat again.” Her throat clenched around her words as she remembered Rose, and what she did. What she shouldn’t have done. 

“What do you mean?” That familiar look of concern shaded his features again. She hated it. 

“Please, don’t send me gifts. It was truly kind, but I can’t accept them.” She tried her best to dance around the real reason. It wouldn't help him to know that she and her friend had gotten punished for his generosity. It wouldn’t help him to know that even if she were to accept them, she would never be able to wear them without suspicion. It wouldn’t help him to know that there was now blood on his hands. 

“But you need them,” he told her, as if she didn’t already know.

“Yes, but I-” the innocent look on his face broke her heart. He really didn’t know how these things worked, did he? “I’m not allowed such nice things.” 

“Then I’ll get you a used pair.” 

Marinette couldn't help a cynical laugh. “No, please, that’s not-”

“I want to help.”

“Thank you, Your Highness-”

“Adrien. Please.”

“Adrien.” she corrected herself. “Thank you. But I can take care of myself.” She met his eye very carefully and gave him a stern look. He met it for a while and then broke his stare with a grin. Hands wrapped themselves around each other in his lap while he chuckled to himself quietly.

“Of course. I'm sorry.” His hand grazed her knee as he went to push his already neat hair back into place. “I didn't mean to presume.”

“It’s alright, Adrien.” They smiled at each other, always smiling. “It was kind. Too kind.” 

“I don’t get much chances for kindness. When I see the opportunity, I take it.” 

“That’s very valiant of you.”

“No,” he whispered. “Kindness isn’t valiant. It is necessary.”

She studied him for a long while. They were both bare footed under the cover of a beautiful tree, seated beside an icy brook. Whatever sun shone through the high tree tops found a way to illuminate them both. His golden hair, her raven locks; they somehow meshed. She blushed at the thought. 

She very much liked sitting with him. There were no words between them, and yet it felt so full. They were both completely content with company of any kind, both of them there with nowhere else to go. 

“I have a question of you,” his words tickled at her like the caressing winds. 

“Yes?” Blue eyes met green. Locked. 

“Are you going to the ball?” His innocence betrayed him yet again.

She smiled as kindly as she could, but she was defeated. So many had asked her this question, and she had thought it over long and hard, but she really had no choice in the matter. She wasn’t going to the ball, whether she wanted to or not. She had no clothes to wear - the dress would never be finished in time - she had no shoes, she had no transportation, and she had no permission. There were always chores to be done in the house And now, with Rose injured as they had said so many girls in their house had been…

“No, I’m afraid I cannot attend any nights of the ball. However much I might like to,” she added when she saw his crestfallen expression. 

“Might I change your mind?” 

She laughed. “It’s not my mind you would have to change.” 

“Should I write another royal decree?” 

She was blatantly reminded who he was and how much power he had. He could do something to that effect. He could do anything he wanted. Then why was he here?

“I’ll be alright, Adrien. Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we follow Marinette getting ready. For what? Who knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: to give a little perspective, this is the time frame of the story:  
> Chapter 5 - 9 are on Sunday (a long ass day)  
> Chapter 10 skips a day and goes to Tuesday  
> This chapter is on Wednesday (two days from the ball!!!!!!)
> 
> By the way, I outlines this story (finally, I don't know why I haven't before) and it's gonna be like... at least thirty chapters. At least. I'm gonna die. It's never gonna end. 
> 
> Also, I'm gonna try to update every other week, and update In Your Court the other weeks. So I'm updating a story a week, feel me? College is a lot, so I don't know if the updates will be super consistent. I hope they will be. Pray for me.

Somehow, she had done it. She didn’t know where she found the time, the energy, or the patience to complete the dress that had taken so long to get done, but she had. Her fingers were sore from pricking herself with the needle, and her back hurt from hunching over the fabric for so long, paying meticulous attention to the length of each stitch. The hand-embroidery along the hem of the shirt with the spare thread she had been given. The careful placement of the black lace across the midnight purple fabric that accentuated every detail of her body. It was perfect. She had done it. 

The purple fabric flowed down her body, as fit as she was able to get it until it came to her hips, from where it cascaded to the floor in waves of beautiful velvet. The shimmering material caught the faint light of the lanterns and the still fire of the stove, making it look like the was wearing stars. The lace that she had so carefully sewed reached in tendrils of from the bottom of the skirt, flowing into embroidered lengths that looked like molasses reaching upwards. The open back was held together with strips of lace that arched between either side of her shoulder blades. Her wrists were encased in lace as well, the black fabric tickling her fingers as they laid at her sides. 

She had pieced together the time and energy to finish it between chores and caring for Rose. Juleka was still mad, and rightfully so. It had been Marinette’s fault, and she still felt terrible. She didn’t know why Rose would have done such a thing for her. 

And she hadn’t stopped there. When she had made it back to the house after Rose had been punished, she was lying in the kitchens, a poultice on the stove made specifically for her injuries. Apparently, they had a jar already made, and it just needed to be heated up before applied. The fact that they had the foresight to do such a thing. The fact that they had needed the poultice at all made Marinette shiver. Had they seen this coming?

Marinette came in to apologize. Juleka glared at her every movement as she walked to where Rose lay on the floor. 

“Marinette!” the small girl had whispered. The pain in her voice was still apparent. She didn’t try to sit up. “I have something for you.”

She was confused to say the least. Why would Rose have anything for her? She should be the one showering the small girl in gifts. She should kiss the ground she walked on like a royal. She owed her everything. And yet-

“Look over there,” she pointed weakly. Her position on her stomach made moving awkward, so her arm couldn’t quite aim in the exact direction she wanted to indicate. But Marinette saw it, still, somehow. The box’s white exterior had been dirtied by dust and grime, and spots of red Marinette refused to think about. The ribbon was tied haphazardly around the box, securing the top in place and nothing more, but it was the kindest sight that she had ever seen. 

“Rose,” she whispered, eyeing the box yet refusing to get any closer. It couldn’t have been real. “You didn’t.”

“Of course I did. You need them.”

Marinette looked at the girl lying on the floor. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just take them. They’re yours, after all.”

She could have burst into tears. How had she done this? Why was she being so kind? She didn’t deserve this, none of it. She felt so guilty and hurt inside for the girl that she had gotten in trouble. And still, Rose was being so humble and helpful, so self-sacrificing. 

“I won’t be able to wear them. Madame will notice.”

“What can she do now?”

She was right. Marinette, with a sense of giddiness over breaking the rules, slipped on the thick woolen socks that felt like kitten’s fur and pulled the leather slippers on over, fitting snugly around the fabric of the socks. She had never had anything that felt so comfortable. She breathed deeply and smiled down at the leather surrounding her feet. 

She almost never took the socks off. There were several pairs that she interchanged between one another to ensure she never went without wearing the wool around her feet. She held her breath the first time she walked out into the parlor with the shoes on, but Rose was right. Nobody noticed. Even if they did, they didn’t say anything; they didn’t care. 

New confidence overcame her, and she set about her work. She was to go into town that day and check with the dresses Louis had for them. She would bring her own dress as well to show him. How proud she was of her creation. 

She set out of Fang’s back, walking at a moderate trot along the late spring path. Flowers bloomed softly along the road, their pollen seasoning the ground. She allowed Fang to stop every once in awhile to eat a particularly tasty looking bud, then set along their way. 

By the time they had made it to town, the sun was just beginning to rise above the tree line, providing warmth she had yet to feel that day. She dismounted as soon as she made it to the first outlying districts of the city, careful to avoid pickpockets that were attracted to the crowded streets she walked along. 

Closer to the inner city, she tied Fang on a post and collected her things from the saddle bag. She paid special care to her dress, which she had wrapped in spare fabric to prevent any tearing from the main article. She skipped happily into the bustling shop of Louis’. 

He was waving his arms and sprinting about the shop as usual. He had such eccentricities. His assistant knew she would never be able to keep up with him, so she stood in place with her notebook, writing down the things she yelled at him at the start of the day. 

“...And the Mendeleiev’s dresses must be finished by tomorrow! Make sure to set those out! The Bernard’s are picking up their dresses today, those are complete, set them out by the window so people can marvel at my excellent work under pressure, and then get me a cup of tea to spill over my face, I’m feeling quite tired still. Where are those quilts?”

“Quilts?” Marinette asked the assistant she still didn’t know the name of. 

“One of his clients is even more unconventional that he is. They wanted a dress completely made out of her family’s quilts. Something about superstition.”

“Where’s my tea!” his voice came from somewhere in the pits of the store. The assistance gave a sigh and a knowing look to Marinette and went to boil some water for tea. There was an entire cabinet just for tea supplies that Louis had to maintain. He couldn’t work without constantly sipping on something hot, which meant his assistant had to constantly keep water boiling to prevent the man from stopping his sewing spree. He had far too much work to do for there to be no tea in his hands. 

Or at least, that’s what he said when he came barging from the back of the store, grasping at his hair, which stood straight up in the air. 

“Marinette!” he called with a huge smile on his face as he saw the small girl standing there. “How very good to see you!” He came over to her with a huge hug, wrapping her entire body in his huge arms, squeezing tightly. 

“Louis,” a chiding voice called. 

“Yes! No time to waste. Back to work.” He turned on his heels and went to a bolt of fabric that was standing in the corner, rolling out a long portion of it and cutting it down the side. In a fluid motion, he swung the fabric onto a large sewing table to the side of the room, leaving the fabric hanging off all edges. “This is to be Madame’s dress. Don’t tell her I started it this late or she’ll have my head.”

“I would never do such a thing. No one deserves Madame’s rage.” A smile played across her lips that was wiped away by the memory of Madame’s rage, and what a potently dangerous mood it could be. “How is the progress on the other dresses?”

She had to have something to take back to the mansion. Any word about the finished or almost finished products that they were paying so much for. Madame would need some sort of confirmation that her money would be worth it, that her daughters were getting the best, that they would have a shot at the prince, not matter how unlikely the proposition was. 

Marinette thought about what Chloe and Adrien might look like. An attractive couple, to be sure, but what might a cruel soul like Chloe do to someone as kind as Adrien? How would they be able to stand each other? 

“Chloe’s and Sabrina’s dresses are both complete, save the hemming. That will need to be done in person.” He eyed her from the sewing table, where he was chopping away at fabric expertly, not even needing to look while he was cutting. “Now, Marinette,” she caught his eye. “I’m not quite available for a private hemming appointment, especially with how far away you live. Honestly, I don’t really understand how you come here so often. It’s quite a trek.” He folded a completed portion of the pattern of fabric and threw it to the side of the table to be dealt with later. “Anyway, I’ll need you to do the hemming. You can handle this, yes?”

Marinette’s eyes widened slightly. She could, of course. She had enough practice sewing from her trial and error with her own dress. She knew how to sew straight lines and to hem the bottom so it wouldn’t fray. She knew how to measure the length so it wouldn’t drag on the floor. They were simple projects. “Louis, I-” but the idea of having to hem the dresses for her stepsisters was terrifying. They would never approve of anyone but Louis. “You know them as well as I. They would never allow me to do such work on dresses as important and expensive as these.”

“Convince them,” he told her, as if it were that easy.

“How?” she laughed. “They have no respect for me. Especially not after-” she caught herself. There was no need to divulge those secrets. “Especially with my station.”

“You’re a lady.”

“I’m a servant. They’ll never allow it.”

Louis paused from his cutting of fabric. He stood tall and looked over to where Marinette was standing in his shop, small against the large dresses and tall mannequins in the display window. How sweet and innocent she looked. “Very well. Tell them that I have no time, and you’re their only option.” Marinette scoffed. “There’s no other way. I simply do not have the time. I’m just beginning Madame’s dress and I have four others to complete by the end of the week. There’s simply no way I can make it out of the city to do something as menial as hemming. I’m sorry, Marinette.” He shrugged and went back to cutting the purple fabric. It wasn’t nearly as decadent as that which he gave to Marinette, but it was still beautiful. “How is that little project of yours going? That lovely fabric would have done wonders in any hand. Especially in yours.”

“Louis, I have no experience. There’s no way I could have any talent-”

“You have plenty, my dear. I can feel it. Have you finished the dress yet, or shall I give you more materials?” He snipped through the last bit of fabric and folded the large piece of fabric he had cut, stacking it where the other pieces had been set. 

“Louis, I cannot accept any more of your kindnesses.” Truly, the affection she had been receiving from so many people lately had her baffled. There was no way she deserved all of it, if any. 

Louis pursed his lips. “My dear, take the kindnesses you are given. You may never receive any more.” A smile upturned his lips as he looked over to her, then went back to cutting a line straight up the length of the fabric. “Penelope!” he called to his assistant. She shot up from where she was sitting and scurried over to where she was called. “Begin pinning these to Madame’s mannequin.” Madame had provided her very own mannequin to Louis when she began requesting dresses from him. It was supposed to be her exact measurements, but Marinette knew it to be two inches smaller around the waist to give space for her corset. She had taken the measurements herself. 

Marinette watched them go about their business, folding and unfolding pieces of fabric, pinning those sections together in special ways that formed a dress around the form of a body. It was spectacular to watch how the dress took form so quickly. It was now just the job of sewing it, fitting it, and adding the decorations. It sounded simple, but Marinette knew from experience how daunting a task it could be. Penelope provided Louis with tea as he went about beginning to cut sections from other pieces of fabric, this one orange and bright. 

“Well?” she heard him call. Marinette was broken from her interested trance formed by their meticulous movements. “The dress.”

A buzz came about her stomach. She didn’t know quite why she was so excited about her creation, but she was proud. It was the first dress that she had ever made that wasn’t sewn together out of the discarded scraps of old materials. She had the saddle bag slung across her shoulder and she set it down on a spare section of table.

“First,” she told him, and pulled out a bundle of a present that she had made for him. “I baked these especially for you. I know how much you love them.”

Louis eyed the bundle. “Are they…?” Marinette nodded and smiled. “My dear, you are too kind.” He took the small package from erh and unwrapped the twine that had been used to secure its top. Slowly and carefully, he pulled one of the cookies from the parcel and slipped part of it into his mouth, humming with happiness. “Penelope!” he called, and the girl looked up from where she was still pinning Madame’s dress. “Learn to bake!” 

His assistant laughed and graciously accepted the smaller bundle of cookies Marinette had wrapped for her. Louis reminded her of the business, and she went back to the saddle bag to grab the dress she was so proud of. She slipped the fabric from the bag and carefully unwrapped the outer fabric from the inner garment, holding it carefully like a newborn child. 

Louis hadn’t acknowledged it yet. Marinette held the dress to her body and cleared her throat for attention. Louis glanced over to her. 

“Well?” She fondled the soft material between her fingers. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he scolded. She tilted her head to the side in a question. “Go try it on! You can’t see the beauty of a dress when it isn’t on a beauty such as yourself.” 

Marinette blushed and hid her shy smile. “I don’t think I have the time.”

“Nonsense. It’ll take no time at all.” He shooed her away to go try it on. She didn’t seem to have a choice, but she had to admit to wanting to put it on. The feeling of the soft materials shifting and falling perfectly over her body, accentuating every curve and every swell. 

She found a secluded section in the back of the store and began removing her shift dress that had been stitched together from five separate garments, trading them for one solid, newly made dress, just for her. It fit perfectly, like she knew it would. Her arms were encased in the warmth of the velvet, her toes tickled by the laced hem, her back feeling the breeze on her exposed skin. She debated about whether or not to take her shoes off or not. She decided she didn’t want to accidentally step on a needle, so she kept them on. 

Her steps were hesitant as she walked from the back room of the store. She had a nervous fluttering in her stomach, like she was revealing a part of herself that she had never dared to explore before. She didn’t even know what she looked like in it. There were no mirrors in the kitchen for her to admire her work as it fit on her body. 

Now, she was stepping before one of the most renowned dressmakers in the city, and he was going to judge her work. He was going to judge her. She didn’t know if she wanted to step out, but he called for her after a while. “You’re taking far too long, my dear! I’m getting anxious!”

A smile broke across her face and she shook off her worries. There was no need to be self conscious with Louis. He was a friend. She took a step into the shop right as some other women stepped in through the front. 

The three women stopped at the front of the store and looked at her. She was dirtied, her hair a mess, and her shoes didn’t match the luxurious dress she was wearing, and they gasped audibly. 

“Oh, Louis,” they whispered, staring her down. Marinette became instantly self-conscious. Her hands went to cover herself however she could. They must have been so embarrassed for her, having to wear this. And Louis was being blamed for her work. She was blushing, flaming, and went to turn back and take the dress off. 

“You’ve done it again, haven’t you?”

“Why haven’t you set this one out on your mannequins? I’m sure it would bring people from all around just to catch a glimpse at it.”

“What exquisite embroidery. How long must this have taken you. Just amazing.”

Louis was staring at Marinette with a gleam in his eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest, almost challenging. Now Marinette was blushing not from embarrassment, but from pride. Did they really think that about her work? Hers? Hey thought that the products of her injured hands were that of a famous seamster?

“Actually,” Louis spoke up, going over to inspect the work that Marinette had done. “This isn’t one of mine. My friend here was modeling her own work for me.” 

The three women came forward to get a closer look at the dress. They seemed to get the idea from Louis, and were now touching the dress she was still in, admiring the stitching she had worked so tirelessly on. 

“You did this work?” the dominant of the three women spoke up, eyeing her carefully. She seemed to just have noticed the state of her hair and her skin, the shoes beneath the fabric. How she must have been judging her now. 

“Yes, I did. This is my-” she cleared her throat, offering shyly. “This is my first dress.”

“This is your first effort at making a dress?” another of them spoke up.

Marinette nodded. 

The women looked at each other and then glanced up to Louis, who was beaming. “My dear, you’re a prodigy.” Now Marinette was beaming. She felt the dress along her body, astounded by the effect of their words. It wasn’t all that, was it? A nod from Louis confirmed her happiness. 

“Thank you,” she told them. 

“Wherever did you get the idea for this form?”

“I don’t have a hoop skirt,” she blurted.

The other women laughed good naturedly. “It’s divine. I’m sure all the ladies will be wearing this next season.”

Marinette blushed harder. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she just smiled at them. Louis set a hand on her shoulder and smiled down at her while the women chatted politely. 

“Alright, my dear, it seems I have other business to take care of. You may stay if you like. You know how much I enjoy your company, but my clients take priority.”

Marinette felt her dress again, comforted by the feeling of the soft fabric beneath her fingertips. “I think I’ll just take the dresses to be hemmed for the girls.”

“Excellent. Penelope will package them for you.” He gestured to where the girl was working by the mannequin of Madame’s form, still pinning. Marinette changed out of the dress and back into her regular clothes. Penelope helped her hang the garment bags over Fang so they wouldn't fall off, and Marinette went on her way. 

She walked down the streets which were much less crowded on weekdays. The regular hustle and bustle of the weekend markets were no longer there. There was no pushing or shoving to get to the choice produce first, or to make it out in time to make lunch, or just to get across town. But there was, ever present, Alya, standing at the end of the road, yelling at passersby to buy the news she had printed. 

“Good morning,” Marinette offered as she approached her from behind. 

“Marinette!” Alya proclaimed, swiftly embracing the girl without putting down the papers in her hands. She squeezed tight and rocked from side to side, grumbling happily into the crook of her neck. When she pulled back, her hands remained on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s great to see you, too. You’re awfully cheerful today, aren’t you?” 

Alya laughed and traded a paper for spare change as someone passed by. “Why not? It’s a surprisingly good day for business. Not like I need it.”

“What? Why?” Marinette went about fiddling with Fang’s straps while they talked. 

“The prince ordered flowers from my parent's shop, so we’re practically set for life. He ordered so many flowers, we had to get sprouts from three different distributors across the kingdom. We transported over twelve carts of potted flowers over the past couple of days to prepare. There’s big things happening up there.”

Marinette had no idea. “You went with them?”

“Yeah, we got a royal escort and everything.”

“Really?”

Alya nodded enthusiastically. “Two castle guards went with us there and back. The trip there was super uneventful, but they had to fight off twenty thieves on our way back!”

“What! Alya, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it was amazing!” The girl seemed not to have any concern for herself. She was ever invested in a good story. “They came out of nowhere, and these two guards had to fight them off. One of them, the girl, got cut across the arm, but she kept on fighting. And the guy went mental and took down ten guys by himself! He was incredible. I didn’t know someone could fight like that!”

She traded another set of papers for coins and deposited them in a pouch by her side, picking up more papers to hock at passersby. Marinette imagined herself in that situation and shivered. 

“That’s impressive,” Marinette conceded. 

“I know!” A blush spread across the girl’s face as she looked out in the crowd. 

Marinette followed the gaze. She somehow recognized the bespectacled man who walked through the crowd, whose collars looked like large muffs on either side of his neck. She could feel Alya shift beside her, and knew she noticed the same man. She watched the girl as she looked through the crowd, both girls trying to hide the smiles on their faces. 

“Alya,” the man said when he finally approached. 

“Nino,” she said by way of greeting. She had forgotten about the papers in her hands, as she suddenly stopped waving them about or yelling at all those with coin in their purse that passed by.

“One paper, please,” he asked with a blushing smile, opening a small purse at his hip. 

“You already have this edition.” She couldn't keep the smile from her face. Marinette was all but forgotten about. 

“I want another.” He handed her a large golden coin, about twenty times the price of one paper. 

Alya gulped as she looked down at the coin. “I don’t believe I have the change to break it,” she stammered. 

“Take it.”

“Nino! I can’t.”

“Why not?” His hand faltered slightly, big his smile remained. 

“It’s too much. Honestly. Thank you, but…” she handed him the paper. “Here.” 

Nino refused to take the paper without giving her the coin. Eventually, she relented, something Marinette had never seen her do before. That, and blush. 

“Alya,” Marinette tried to shake the girl out of her trance as the boy walked away with one of her papers. “Are you alright?”

Alya turned dreamily to her friend, then her eyes went wide. “Oh, no!” Her hands went to her mouth. “I’m not. Marinette, I’m going to the ball, but I can’t show up in this, what was I thinking? There’s absolutely no way I can show up in anything less than a ball gown. Honestly, it’s a ball, what was I thinking. I can’t walk through the palace in my dirty clothes. I don’t even want to know what I’ve walked through in these shoes-” 

“Alya,” Marinette had to stop the girl’s rambling, spiraling words. “Thinking like that isn’t good for you.”

“Living like this isn’t good for me.” The girls cracked slight smiles at the sides of their mouths. 

“Perhaps not.” Marinette looked over to Fang, who was chewing on a sprout of grass that grew through the cobblestone pavement. He wiggled contentedly while flicking flies from his hide with his tail. She patted his side and eyed the saddle bag strapped to his back. An idea came to her head. 

She looked over to Alya, who was busying herself with selling more newspapers, although her gusto was subdued slightly. Her plan might work, she thought. Maybe. 

“Alya,” she called the girl, who stopped her work and turned. “Here,” Marinette went to the saddle bag and pulled out the garment wrapped in its own fabric as protection. “Wear this.”

Alya stared down at the bunches of fabric that were held in Marinette’s hands. “What is this?”

“A dress. I made it. I have no use for it, so it might as well be in the hands of someone who does.” Truthfully, it bothered Marinette to see the dress go to waste. What was she going to do with such a thing? And it would fit the other girl well, seeing as they were almost exactly the same height and weight. Maybe the other girl had more to her hips, but the fabric had stretch to it. If anything, it would look better on the brunette. 

“Marinette, you couldn’t possibly-”

“Take it, Alya. What would I do with a dress like this?” 

Alya met Marinette’s eyes, her brows furrowed with concern. “You’re sure?”

“I wouldn't be offering if I weren’t.” Marinette pushed her hands out further, insisting. “Please.”

Alya reached her hand out slightly, feeling the beautiful fabric that sparkled slightly in any light. Before she allowed herself to touch it, she threw her hands out, encircling Marinette with her arms. “Thank you, thank you!” 

Marinette returned the hug. She was getting better at accepting these shows of affection. “Of course. Anything for a friend.”

Her stomach stirred with the insinuation that she had another friend. The group of people she considered as such had grown in number greatly over the last weeks. Days. 

“Have fun at the ball for me,” Marinette told her friend as she mounted Fang and began making her way through the crowd to her home. She waved goodbye as she waded through the thick crowds. 

Marinette brought Rose the herbs she requested for her poultices. Juleka glared at her from across the room whenever she came into the room. She was busy serving all of the cousins and the stepsisters by herself since Marinette was out of the house and Rose was too injured to do much of anything. Juleka had been trying to take care of everything in the house by herself, and she was doing too much. 

However, she would never let Marinette close enough to her to start a conversation. She would always pick up cleaning supplies and leave hurriedly, or go to speak with Rose, dodging eyes and skirting around the table to get around her. She was beyond angry with Marinette, and she couldn’t be blamed. 

It was Marinette’s fault, after all. But she was trying to make up for it, as much as she could. 

She made them dinners and breakfasts every day, although Rose insisted on putting together lunches while the other girls were busy. She shouldn’t have been getting up, but she had made the case that if she sat too long, she would feel useless. Marinette knew the feeling. 

Marinette made as many poultices as possible to make sure that Rose was being cared for as much as possible. Whenever she heard the small voice across the room asking for water or to light another candle, she would do whatever he was bid, then she would stoke the fire, change her bandages, smear some more heady salves on her injuries, and watch them heal magically before her eyes. Rose admitted that she never usually healed that fast. 

“You must be some sort of lucky charm,” the tiny girl smiled up at Marinette when she came over to help her settle into a sitting position so she could eat her lunch. 

Marinette scoffed at this. “I’m an omen, more like.”

“No,” Rose took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “You’re special, Marinette. You just don’t see it.”

Marinette blushed down at the small girl and pulled her hand away, going about the other chores that must be done around the house. Having the girls was simultaneously a blessing and a burden. Things got done much more efficiently around the house, but there was much more to be done with the influx of women living in the mansion. No longer were Marinette’s chores dictated by one woman. Instead, she was pulled in every direction. She took to the servant’s corridors to prevent herself from being needed. 

She was supposed to be going to clean another one of the room in the house. She didn’t know whether is was Aurora’s or Manon’s, but she knew it had to be done, and she was available to do it. So she walked through the corridors to get in through the servants’ entrance. But her feet carried her past where she was supposed to go. She didn’t notice until she was halfway up a spiral staircase she only twice before had climbed that she was not where she was meant to be. 

The old back tower of the mansion was untouched since her mother died. She was not supposed to go there, but she saw her father escape into the dark recesses of the tower every once in awhile, hiding there for hours. She never knew what she did, but the memories were always clear. The old wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet as she climbed, the wood eaten in the corners by termites and other insects. Cobwebs cast shadows through every small window, the only light sources that speared glowing shafts through the circular room. Dust swirled through the beams, twirling in their own intricate dance, finally disturbed into action by her presence. 

She rest a careful hand on the railings, equally as worn as the steps she climbed, easing her fluttering stomach. She asked herself why she was being pulled here after so many years away from the crypt-like room, but she couldn't answer herself. She just kept walking, her breath creating eddies in the dust that swirled in front of her face, thick like fog. 

She made it to the door that practically fell completely off of its hinges ages ago. With nimble fingers, she found the smoothes spots to grab and lifted it away from the floor settling it into a corner inside the room. The cleaning supplies she had carried up the stairs were forgotten at the doorway as she entered the room.

Light pours in from a dingy skylight, creating the same swirling patterns in the air that were present in the cavernous space below. Birds had nested in the rafters, flying in from a broken window to the left of the entryway. Tens of little sparrows fluttered through the air, giving life to the dead space. Their nests remained scattered around the room, and evidence of their presence was made on the floor. 

She looked around the attic, its space huge, with high ceilings and broad walls. It was more brightly lit than she had expected as the windows shone down the sun’s gifts, letting her see into every corner of the room. Her feet left prints in the thick layer of dust on the floor, her skirt swiped patterns into the ground as she walked. 

She remembered exploring these rooms as as a child, after her father had passed, before her step mother had forced her to work for her. She would hide in these rooms in her spare moments, especially this one, and read the books that she found, the words scrubbed away by time. Her feet led her over to the chests she knew to be filled with literature from many ages. What little she could make out from some of the texts were letters she never had the knowledge to understand. The sharp lines made characters she was unfamiliar with, and made her vision swim. Her fingers skimmed over the outside of the chests now, painting pictures with her nails. 

The light from the windows gave the entire room light, except a small space nestled within the crevice of a wall and a wardrobe. She wouldn’t have noticed the dark space if movement hadn’t drawn her eye. Her curiosity brought her forward, inching towards the tiny space at the back of the room. 

Shifting shadows swirled into her mind. She came closer, leaning down into the small space. Her dirtied fingers reached down, into the space blocked by the large wardrobe to one side. 

The space shifted again, and she pulled her hand back. She didn’t know what to expect, but she didn’t anticipate green eyes to stare back at her from the darkness. Her heart began to pound as she scurried away several steps and a cat jumped out from the space she had been studying. He leapt onto the floor in front of her and stretched, his paws out in front of him and his back reaching toward the sky. He purred lightly and came towards Marinette, rubbing himself on her leg. 

Her heart settled its racing as she pet him. 

“What were you doing back there, love?”

He mewled at her and kept rubbing himself against her. Her eyes were still attached to the dark space of the room. The darkness flooded her mind. 

She crept closer and, despite herself, her heart started hammering again. 

A red glint caught her eye as she stared down. She reached again. The space must have been vacated as soon as the cat jumped out of the way, so she felt around, touching what must have been the floor. She ran her fingers along the ground, searching for what could have made the glint without her eyes to guide her. As she pushed, the object she thought to be a part of the floor shifted. She kept investigating and found the edge of what happened to be a box when she lifted it out of the space. 

She settled the box into her lap as the cat beside her purred. Her hand patted his head absently as she studied the little container. It was no longer than a couple of inches on either side, but there didn’t seem to be any opening. The black, stone-like material was decorated with red symbols that were foreign to her. They reminded her of the characters in the books she had taken from the chests behind her, but they were much larger, encasing the entire box with their breadth. She turned the box over in her hand. 

There was one side without any decoration, completely black save for a small square of red in the middle. She ran her fingers over the square, feeling the difference in texture between the smooth black exterior and the rough red etching. The cat beside her stepped up on her thigh as if to watch what she was doing. Her finger edged over the square when the cat dug its claws into her skin. 

“Ah!” she exclaimed, as her fingers squeezed into the box and she whirled on the cat. The black creature scurried away across the room, leaving small tracks in the dust of the floor. “Silly thing,” she whispered, rubbing the spot on her thigh that still stung. Her other hand held the bottom of the box still. 

So invested in the inconvenience of the pain in her leg, she hadn’t noticed the creases that appeared in the box, ripples like openings on every side. Marinette only noticed when she felt the box shivering in her hands. 

She looked closer and saw the lines that had formed in the once solid box. Her fingers fluttered over the box, tracing the new lines that crisscrossed with the red lettering. She set the box on the ground and, with trembling fingers, pulled the box apart. 

The crease along the top of the box folded in on itself as she pulled, forming itself into a little flower. The blackness of the outside gave way to a stunningly red interior, catching light at every angle so that each petal glowed. Marinette stared at the opening box, watching as it grew the more she pulled on either end. By the time it had fully opened, Marinette was completely mesmerized. Se had never seen something so beautiful and intricate. She lifted the box close to her face to examine it and she saw something nestled within the folds of the petals. 

Two pendants, small and red, each one half of a circle, were settled within the red petals of the box, their redness outshining even the brilliance of their container. They glowed like rubies, delicately catching the slightest amount of light and turning it into shimmering illumination. She felt her jaw dip open as she stared. 

A loud cry from below startled her out of her trance. 

“Marinette!” 

She closed the box and carried it with her towards the door, wrapping it in a cleaning cloth and stashing it in her cleaning supplies. With a deep breath, she hurried down the stairs to do her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, these chapters keep getting longer, don't they.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien prepares. For what? The ball. Duh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is really long. I had no idea it was gonna be thing long. But So Many Things are HAPPENING and I’m so excited. I have a feeling that the rest of these chapters are gonna get longer and longer. I’ll try to keep them pretty short, but there’s a lot to put down and I love this story a lot.
> 
> 50,000 words you guys! Thank you to everyone who has read up to this point. You’re my favorites. Enjoy!

The day of the ball came far sooner than Adrien had ever anticipated. He woke up and sat for a moment in his bed, fully waking to the realization that it was the day he had been preparing for for such a long time. His father had stressed the importance for years, for him to find a suitable wife and queen. But it was more than that, much more. He was meeting his people, for what felt like the first time. 

 

Without restraint, he would be meeting people from every walk of life. Obviously, there would be more of the upper class than the lower. Only the very wealthy were able to afford traveling so far from their homes to stay at the capitol for the event. Nevertheless, he would be meeting bakers alongside nobles. He would be talking with butchers and craftspeople along with those who wore diamonds on a day to day basis. 

 

It was exciting. Heart pounding. Intoxicating. 

 

He sprung out of bed and dressed quickly, washing his face with a bowl of still-warm water on his table, and pulling on a simple jacket while he rushed from his door. He caught a glimpse of his outfit for that night. 

 

His usual clothes were gorgeous, if old-fashioned; the hand-crafted embroidery and perfectly symmetrical lines were an art unto themselves. But this, with its pure gold tunic and soft green brocade in the form of the seal of his house swirling around the edges, was exquisite. The overcoat was thick fabric of the same color of the tunic, with beautifully embroidered sleeves that draped to the floor. The vest of creamy white and etched forest green hem made a beautiful contrast with the rest of the outfit, and tied into the same white pants he wore. Deep gold buttons marked color into the pants and the vest. Green eyes glanced over the heavy, stifling suit as he exited his room, sighing deeply. 

 

It was the traditional fashion for princes and kings. However much the times changed, the style of royalty did not, and so Adrien was stuck with something passed down through the ages to be worn by him on a special occasion. Still, it was beautiful, and it embodied the day that was approaching, the anticipation of the party to come, the freedom it entailed. 

 

However strong his excitement was, it was quelled by the fact that he would be doing nothing but hosting all night. Would he even be able to meet anyone, he thought, besides the nobles who pushed their way to the front of the line to greet him? Probably not. There would be little time to do much of anything, let alone dance, eat, or be merry. 

 

Which was his father’s plan. It was hard to find a bride when you don’t meet any women who weren’t already on the arm of wealthy men. He guaranteed his father had a plan to distract him as much as possible and prevent him from meeting anyone of true importance. He hoped he was wrong. 

 

The first task of the day was to meet with the entertainment who had arrived early that morning. The players were famous in the region for being the funniest and the best. Adrien was excited to meet them.

 

They were known by their flashy clothing; Adrien heard the bells of their costumes before he ever saw them waiting in the main entrance corridor of the palace. Their bright smiles and laughter bounced off the walls while serving men and women rushed through the hall, hanging white, gold, and green tapestries, arranging blossoming purple and green flowers, cleaning the floors, the walls, the statues littered throughout the corridor. Everything must be perfect, and they were the ones who must prepare the perfection. It was coming along. 

 

“Good morning, everyone,” he smiled to the players, who stopped to look at him. Nervous smiles accompanied polite hellos, and Adrien felt the unease in the air. It was not customary for entertainment to be met by royalty, but Adrien was never one for the traditional. And besides, it was his ball to begin with, and it would be his ball to the very end. Many of the players hid their faces behind masks, so all Adrien saw was their mouths and their eyes. He tried to make contact with every pair of eyes he could, to ease as much tension as possible. “I am Adrien Agreste, and I’m throwing a little party tonight,” he joked. 

 

A ripple of polite laughter rolled through the group, but the tension remained. They were likely not going to be close, Adrien though, but he still wanted to be at ease. 

 

“Please, come this way,” he gestured, beginning down the long hallway. The main entrance was hardly the most elaborately decorated portion of the castle. They made their way through the grand ballroom, which was framed with tall tables cascading with ivy and plush flowers. Candelabras were interchanged with the tables, but they had yet to be lit. In the very middle of the room, the main centerpiece of the ball, was a grand statue, commissioned with a figure of every ruler to ever grace the halls of the castle. 

 

The newest statue of the bunch was his father, standing regally below his grandfather, looking sternly across the hall. His furrowed brow covering cold eyes and hard lips. 

 

He would be next, his own gaze forever encased in marble, to be gazed at for centuries by those to come. His children. His grandchildren and beyond. 

 

He walked past the statue with the group of players following closely behind, passing the orchestral pit fashioned with gold chairs and conductor stand. He would meet with the musicians next. The next room was almost completely barren, not yet filled with details and final touches for the ball. But on the far end of the room was a large stage, where the players would be set up. 

 

Adrien made his way across the room when something small and red flew in front of his face. He startled slightly and waved his hand to get it out of the way, pushing forward. He ushered them all into place, showing them behind the stage, the trap doors, and all details they would need to know. Meanwhile, he tried to smile as much as possible, to joke, and to laugh. Still, barely any of them would pick up on the subtle friendliness. Perhaps it wasn’t quite subtle, but he was trying to ease as much discontent as possible. 

 

He helped where he could, bringing large boxes backstage, much to the dismay of the players. They tried to take the boxes from him, but he insisted, helping until every prop was set up behind the thick curtains and they had settled in. After almost an hour in their company, they began opening slightly. Someone actually genuinely laughed at one of his jokes, and his smile was radiant. 

 

When it was time for him to take his leave, he passed by the prop table, covered in multicolored poles, scarves, costumes, and fake animals. He noticed a flash of red in the corner of his eye and followed his gaze. A little ladybug had somehow made it backstage with them, and was resting on a fake plant on the table. Its wings fluttered slightly, revving up as Adrien watched. 

 

It jumped down from the plant, the leave jiggling with the loss of the tiny weight of the bug, and it flew down to the costumes, where it landed on a black mask. The golden spirals of detail made the mask incredibly beautiful, curving into spikes near the temples, resembling ears. It reminded him of a cat, he thought, as the ladybug walked down one of the mask’s whiskers. How appropriate. 

 

The ladybug fluttered its wings again, and began flying away. Adrien knew he had other duties to attend to. He had may things to do. But something pulled him to follow the ladybug as it flew quickly away from him. He nearly jogged to keep up with it. He chased the tiny red bug down long corridors in the castle. He honestly questioned what he was doing, following a bug, but it felt as if he had to. There was no question in his mind that there was something important that had to do with this tiny bug. 

 

So he followed, passing servers who were setting up the numerous table that would soon be filled with food, passing darkened hallways that would be stationed with guards to provide security and prevent drunken partiers from straying where they shouldn’t. He passed through large chambers with shadowed windows, letting none of the morning light through the thick fabric. He skipped steps as he ran up staircases, grand and spiral, stone and carpet-covered. He chased a tiny red bug, something so insignificant that he should have been easily able to ignore it, all the way across the castle, up stairs, and around staring people. 

 

For a moment, when the bug turned a corner ahead of him, he thought he had lost it. He looked around frantically, searching for a flash of red in the dim light coming through the coverings of the windows. His heart pounded violently until he found it, sitting on the handle of a door that looked far too old to be a part of such a well-kept castle. 

 

Every century, the castle was refitted with updated locks, doors, paint, to keep the palace looking modern and fresh. The last renovation had taken place about thirty years ago, but this door looked to be centuries old, like it hadn’t been replaced since the first building of the castle. He looked around himself, taking his eyes off of the bug for the first time in what felt like hours. He had never been in this part of the castle before. He thought he had explored every nook and cranny, but this hallway, in what seemed to be the very peak of the castle, looked completely foreign. 

 

The ladybug crawled around the circular door knob, fluttering its wings slightly as if to take off, but staying put. Adrien reached forward to where the ladybug was settled, and watched it take flight to avoid his touch. The tiny bug went to the old lock, so small that it was able to fit through the large keyhole to escape him. 

 

“Wait!” he heard himself calling, reaching toward where the bug had disappeared to. He tried the doorknob, but it was stiff from age. He turned it forcefully and managed to persuade it to turn, then pushed through the door, heaving his shoulder into the wood to open it. He rubbed his shoulder and looked around briefly before finding a staircase before him. He groaned internally and began climbing, looking all the while for the bug that had escaped there. 

 

The spiraling staircase was steep and old. He climbed for a long while, the door behind him and all light available disappearing, but he was motivated to keep going. Stumbling with the dark, he kept climbing, thinking incredulously about what he was doing. There was still work to be done, plans to finish. But he climbed, undeterred. 

 

With one last step, the world fell out beneath him and his stomach pitched. His foot landed solidly on the same wood he had been trekking up, but the last step was not there. He felt around in the dark for some wall, cursing himself for not bringing a lantern on his journey. Fingers touched cool stone all around. Rough patches melded into the pane of what felt like a door, and Adrien looked down, eyes wide to try to compensate for the darkness. A small prick of light found its way to his eyes in the darkness, coming from the keyhole of the ancient door. 

 

His hand landed confidently on the doorknob and he turned it, this one opening easily, without a creak or a whine. The dim light inside seemed like staring straight into the sun after the engulfing darkness he had come from. Blinking eyes tried to adjust to the new light, his dilated pupils burning before he could. Rubbing his eyes, he took steps forward into the room. 

 

Once adjusted, he looked around the room. 

 

Empty. 

 

It was completely empty. Of course it was. He had followed a ladybug through his castle to find an empty room in the top of a tower. His mind berated him as well as his legs, which began to feel the effects of climbing for so long. He turned to leave. 

 

Before he could, a flash of red caught his eye. He turned, watching the ladybug in dim light. It somehow glowed in the dark room, like it was calling for him. Rapt, he watched the tiny insect flit through the room, passing through beams of light that Adrien hadn’t noticed coming through a window in the far wall. 

 

The bug flew silently, the entire world still but for the tiny creature. A box he hadn’t noticed before was laying directly in the line of the beam of light, bathing in the glow of the sun outside. The little bug headed straight for it, intent. Adrien couldn’t seem to move until the insect had landed on the small black box, red contrasting with the dark color.  
Adrien took a slow step forward, as if in a dream, approaching the box. It was quite literally the only thing in the large room. The window from which the light was coming had a small crack in it, and the board of wood beneath it was warped with water damage. Adrien ignored what would be taken care of later, and continued toward the box. As he approached, the bug flew away, startled by his shadow, and escaped through the crack in the window. 

 

For whatever reason, he mourned the loss of the insect. But the box was still chanting to him, begging him to pick it up. The stark blackness looked cold in the warm light, and he almost didn’t want to bend down to pick it off the ground. But he did, nonetheless. 

 

At first, he only ran his finger along the edge of the box. It was light enough that the barest caress of pressure pushed it across the floor. Adrien pushed it over and listened to something inside topple with the disruption. Strange, he told himself, as if nothing else about the situation were strange. 

 

He finally picked it up, the weight only slight in his hands. The black exterior shone in the miniscule light of the room. He held it close to his face, examining it closely. 

 

There were no seams in the material. The onyx-black had the barest shine, a slight glow like it was lit from the inside. It felt almost warm in his hand, although he attributed the fact to the sun that it was sitting in moments before. It didn’t stop him from feeling like there was something living inside the box, though. He held it ever closer to his face, almost waiting for something to happen. 

 

And it did. The bells began ringing, faintly, from more of a distance than he would have expected. Nevertheless, the hour had been struck, and he had work to do. 

 

He looked down in his hand, which cradled the small black box. Would he keep it? Should he put it back? 

 

The chiming of the clock tower told him to make the decision quickly, and, without a thought, he shoved the small cube into his pocket, sprinting from the room and down a spiral staircase. 

 

He was to be meeting with security at ten to go over assignments, perimeter checks, internal and external security, those who would be doing patrols not only within the castle walls, but in town to prevent anyone from getting up to no good. The ball was quite the distraction, and Adrien needed to make sure that no one took it to their advantage. He knew Agres was a peaceful, loving kingdom, but that didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be any outliers who would try to use the situation to benefit their personal causes at the expense of others’. 

 

Adrien walked into the main barrack, where a small congregation of people were gathered, hunkered over a list of names, assignments, and the like. 

 

“Adrien!” Nino exclaimed as he walked in the door. He walked over to him with wide-open arms, wrapping one congenially around the other’s shoulder. Maintaining his friendly grin, he leaned in close to Adrien’s ear and whispered harshly. “You’re late.”

 

“I was held up,” Adrien shrugged the arm off of his shoulder, walking toward the table of stern-faced leaders. “I hope I’m not too late,” he smiled. None were returned. It seemed there were more pressing matters than his tardiness to be discussed. Nevertheless, there was work to be done, and he would not take the feelings to heart. 

 

“You’re just in time,” Nino said, too loudly, too obviously. Adrien smiled politely, with a hint of warning, to his friend. 

 

“I’m glad.” Finally at the table at the center of the room, he hunched his shoulder over and slapped his hands on the table, matching the posture of the other people in the room. Below him, he saw a map of the city with colored lines running the length of the streets, a map of the castle, with the same treatment, and a long list of names with check marks, scribbles, and stars next to a third of the names. “What have we here?”

 

“Business,” Anastasia, the large field marshal said curtly, as always coming to the very edge of rudeness, but never quite crossing the line when the prince was present. Adrien gave an equally curt nod to her, with a thin smile. 

 

“Explain,” he commanded. There were no minced words here. 

 

Ana straightened her back, taking the same posture that his father did when he was going to scold his son. Her chest puffed out in a show of power, her arms clasped behind her back, her chin pointed to the sky, eyes narrowed to look at him, like he was beneath her. He didn’t mind. His gaze remained nonchalant, unperturbed. “As it has been promised that each guard is to have one night free to attend the ball,” a policy that Adrien would not bend on. The entire point of the ball was to reward the citizens of the kingdom for their work and loyalty. “We are short men for the amount of security needed. We must take volunteers for those shifts we need to fill. Some will not be able to attend the ball.”

 

“No,” Adrien asserted with finality. 

 

“Your Highness-”

 

“No,” he repeated. “Lengthen shifts. Everybody deserves a night at the ball. Or at least a night off, to have to themselves. Your men work very hard, Anastasia, and they deserve a rest every once in awhile.”

 

Her back straightened further, if that was possible. “We work our men so hard, because that is their duty to the kingdom. We work them hard, because they are to protect the kingdom when the time comes. They are to protect your people, Your Highness.” She knew he hated that title, and she used it against him with a glint of victory as she watched him squirm. 

 

“And I am very grateful for that work. You do it very well, as there has not been any major incidents within or without the city walls since you have been appointed Field Marshal. That being said, your people, all the guards under your command, are deserving every last bit as much as the citizens of my kingdom to attend the ball. I am specifically inviting, and insisting that every person who wishes to attend the ball maintains that right.” He stared very intently at her, never taking his hands off of the table. Although she was towering above him, the air between them stiff and full of tension, they both knew that he had the upper hand. There would be no compromising where this issue was concerned, and she hated it. “If we extend the length of each guard's’ shift by one hour, will we have enough to cover every shift?” he directed the question to Nino.

 

The man quickly scribbled down some calculations, thinking for a moment to figure it out. “It will have to be two hours. For a total of six hour shifts each.”

 

“Six hours?” Ana nearly screeched. “May I remind you that each guard is to have two shifts per day. To assign each guard to twelve hours of work daily is outrageous. Might I ask, Your Highness, does the reward of a single night at the ball outweigh the cost of four extra hours of work for the weekend?” They glared at each other for a moment, Adrien not knowing how to answer the question, or even if it should be answered, and Ana thinking she had won. 

 

It was Nino who spoke up next. “I might have a solution,” he offered, not wanting to get in between the battle of wills that was occurring across the table. Adrien turned to his friend with a sarcastically pleasant smile to contrast the glare he had for Ana. 

 

“What do you suggest, Nino?” Ana said through gritted teeth, her eyes never leaving the prince’s face. 

 

“Well, as it stands, all guards have a full day off from duty. That means that we would have to split the masses into three shifting parties. Two who would be on duty, and one who would have the day off.” The rest of the room was is rapt attention, attempting to wrap their heads around his explanation. “Now, if we have a half a day of work, then we would be able to assign the groups who would be attending the ball to the afternoon shift, allowing them the night after their shift to be free to do what they wish. Those who would not be attending the ball that day would be taking two four hour shifts, as usual, while those attending the ball would be taking on one four hour shift, while the rest of their day is free.” 

 

Adrien smiled to his friend. “This is an excellent compromise,” he turned to Anastasia. “Does this fit your needs as well?” 

 

She had resorted to crossing her arms across her chest. She didn’t like Adrien, and she had a quarrel with Nino that lasted years. She was a proud woman, but she knew when a good idea was in her sights, and she was not one to turn down the best option to protect her pride. She uncrossed her arms from her chest and plastered them on the table, bowing her head in some sort of resignation. Never defeat, but the battle was won. “These are acceptable terms, yes.”

 

“Great!” Adrien clasped his hands together with a sharp clap. “Onto our next issue. Where are we to be assigning the guards?” 

 

For the next half hour, they argued over who would be positioned where. There were many different stations that needed to be covered, including within the castle, along the perimeter, and those who would be used merely for ceremonial decoration at the entrance of the ball. Adrien fought over the amount of men who would be stationed at the front, eventually bringing the number down from one hundred to fifty. Anastasia was always one for not only safety, but tradition. It perplexed Adrien why someone who broke so many barriers in her rise to her position would hang so tightly to the traditions that meant to hold her back. No matter, he went along with the traditional functions, but only if he had them his way. And he almost had them all in his favor, until Ana brought up the last piece of the meeting. 

 

“Your Highness,” she addressed him. “Your father has insisted on private security to be at your service at all times.”

 

Adrien looked straight to her, his eyes wide, jerking as if he had been hit. “He is assigning me a private guard?” It was just like his father to bring in something so trivial at the last minute, something to distract him from what he actually wanted and needed to get done. How would he be able to go about his business when toting around three or four security guards that would be plastered to his side at all times? How was he expected to meet people and form actual connections with them, to find someone who he wanted to marry, when he was also expected to be constantly accompanied by distraction. 

 

He knew the answer: He wasn’t. That was the point. Yet another nail in the coffin that was Adrien’s marital status. With the lack of his own choice, his father would be able to make the decision for him, and bring in his own bride, and Adrien would have no choice but to marry her. Most likely, she would be some diplomat’s daughter with fabulous wealth and power on her side. She would be cruel and power-hungry, and she would love nothing more than to become Queen and have land to herself. Nothing less would come of the choice of his father. 

 

He had to find someone of his own. Someone selfless and kind, who had empathy for those around them and who wouldn't see the power he held as something to be gained. They would look at him with love, not intention and social advancement. 

 

Once, he believed that his father had the same ideals. His own mother hadn’t been powerful, or rich, nor did she have an army on her side. She wasn’t a wealthy princess from a land they needed to bargain with. There were no lands they were in bad standing with anyway, so what would be the point of such a union. Often, the king married off lesser lords and ladies to secure bonds with other lands, but he would never go so far as to bargain his own son as a pawn in his game of chess. No, his mother wasn’t a union of necessity, or threat.

 

It was a marriage of love.

 

His mother had been a handmaiden. It was a scandalous marriage, but once the people saw her demeanor, her kindness, and her intelligence, they understood the union. His mother had been one of the greatest rulers to ever come to the Agres kingdom, and she was loved all the more for it. Her amazing beauty aside, she was revered as a leader, with a firm hand when need be, and loving care for all of her subjects. 

 

It was the marriage of his father that made Adrien wonder so much about the choices he made. Why would a man who had married one from the bottom tiers of society be so adamant that his son find a match that was “worthy?” What was the point of making the choice for his son, when the king himself never took the word of anyone, even his advisors. 

 

The absolute power that the king craved was incredible, and worrisome for the people that Adrien looked over. Eventually, that would be the whole of the kingdom, and he was concerned with the progress that was being made under his father. The more time wore on, the more they fought and disagreed, the more Adrien wished a girl suitable for his father would magically appear and steal his heart away. How he wished it would be so easy. 

 

How he knew it would be so impossible if he were restricted from meeting those who he would consider as brides. 

 

“No. Absolutely not,” he affirmed, “You said it yourself, we barely have enough men to cover every shift. There is no need for men to be at my side when they are going to be covering every entrance and exit in every room that I am in. No. We cannot waste the men.” A surge of anger rushed through him. His father was devious, but he didn’t expect something like this. 

 

“Your Highness, this is something your father has made expressly clear to me that he will not budge on. You will have a private guard with you at all times during the ball. He will not be swayed.” A certain glint came to Ana’s eyes like she knew she was going to win. She had confidence in battle, and suddenly, this conversation had turned into a battlefield. Trained from a young age, she was ruthless even when she knew she didn’t stand a chance. Now, with the support of the king behind her, Adrien almost had no choice. But he was his father’s son, and he was stubborn. He would fight with everything he had. 

 

“This is not a debate, Anastasia.” He placed his hands firmly on the table in front of him. “You can tell my father so if you wish. But there is too much already holding me back from the purpose of the ball. I am to find someone whom I wish to marry, and that will be impossible if I am not able to meet with as many people as I can.” 

 

“I thought the purpose of the ball was to thank the people for their loyalty,” she challenged. 

 

“It serves multiple purposes.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. The challenge was expected, but not welcome. “We have been going back and forth about these things all day, Anastasia, but this is one thing I will not budge on. I will not have a private guard, and that is final.” He stood up straight, as if that was all he had to say. But Ana had other plans. 

 

“I’m afraid I do not answer to you, Adrien.” It was unusual for her to call him by his name, and it caught him off guard. It felt strangely intimate coming from her mouth, and he was not expecting the shift in tone. She was more quiet and unassuming now, every word slipping from her mouth in a snakelike manner. She answered to the king, and he knew that. No matter what power he held over the people of the kingdom, someone with the king on their side had power he could not forego. “The king has made it very clear that you are to be escorted everywhere you go. You may take it up with him if you wish.”

 

With no further warning, she left the room. Several of her hand scurried after her, unprepared for the dramatic exit. Adrien and Nino were the last to remain in the building, Adrien slightly seething. Nino placed a hand on his shoulder as Adrien slumped over the table. 

 

The prince straightened with a shake of his head. 

 

“It’s ridiculous,” he stated, simply. 

 

“He’s the king. He can do what he wishes.”

 

“I’m the prince,” Adrien said, suddenly fed up with the power his father had over him. “I will be king in no less than six months, and yet he believes that he is to be in power over m for the rest of my life. I cannot bow to him on everything, Nino. He has never bowed to anyone.” He tried to process the information aloud, but it made no sense to him. He turned inward. 

 

His father had been notorious for finding unfound solutions for problems. He carved out new routes for the kingdom, and in doing so solved problems that no one else could. And when he set his mind to something, he stuck to it. He was a king, along with his queen, who made the kingdom that much better and stronger. They worked in tandem to produce the best laws for the land, to protect people from themselves and from others, and to keep peace. He spent hours solving individual problems that his subjects came to him with, using his authority to genuinely make other’s lives better. 

 

But after his wife had died, after Adrien’s mother had died, he used what had once been a unique gift to cause tumult. His advisors could barely sway him, and when they did, they kept him from passing decrees that would topple the kingdom within months. He was ruthless in his decisions, always steadfast and stubborn in his approach to governance. Adrien was always the only one who would be able to affect his decisions, and he asked himself if it was because of his resemblance to his mother. 

 

And that caused him to ask himself another question. 

 

Had his father always been this way, rash and unpredictable, but his mother had been there to even him out? Was he to take the place as the voice of reason in the family, and to keep the people from falling to ruin? And now that he was in such bad standing with his father, with so little time to make it up, but so much time for terrible thing to happen to the people, would their disagreements cause the hurting of their people?

 

Adrien set his mind to the question at hand. It seemed so much smaller than it had to be: could he defy his father? But the gravity of its implications were astronomical. He was either following in the footsteps of his father, who was been known to be brash, or in the steps of his mother, the calming, guiding voice of the kingdom who worked from the background for a decade. 

 

Both positions held power, but he knew none of them held power over his father. So he would have to go about the problem his own way. 

 

“Fine.” Nino seemed surprised by the concession. Adrien may have taken after his mother in many ways, but he had the stubbornness of his father, and it wasn’t like him to turn over so easily. “I will have three guards, no more.” Adrien left the room without anymore pretense. 

 

His frustration was apparent in every motion he made, and every step he took. Shoulders slumped toward the ground, his head lowered, making his hair flop over into his eyes. He hated that he felt like a petulant child, but his father had basically given the power of a toddler. 

 

No matter, he had another meeting with the cook to check on the progress of the meals. There was to be much food, and that meant there must be a lot of cooks and serving hands to make sure the food was prepared and ushered to the ballrooms to be served. They had to hire several hundred new hands to take the extra weight, and they all needed a place to stay for the next weekend so they could be close at hand for any of the needs the head cook had. 

 

Adrien sighed at what an undertaking this ball had to be, but he forced himself to pay attention over the next three hours, feeling the approach of the ball within his bones. He felt the passing of time like a knife slowly being twisted in his gut, the anticipation excruciating. The chiming of the bell was his only relief, for it meant that time was passing, however slowly it felt to him. The reverberating clangs never came soon enough, and he was almost begging the world to spin faster, if only it meant that the ball would begin. 

 

It was two in the afternoon by the time he had escaped from the sweltering kitchens. 

 

There would be three more chimes of the clock tower before the ball started, and his heart was already racing. No longer did he care about his father’s security detail that would be surrounding him at all times. He just wanted there to be people and music, and to have some form of freedom, even within the walls of his own home. The excitement was exhilarating. 

 

He escaped to his room to change into less dirty clothes, mostly to distract himself as he had nothing else to do for the next two hours. His next task would be to get ready for the grande event. He would bathe and someone would do his hair, he would don the thick, heavy clothes that were already hung in his room, ready for him, and he would greet the most notable of the guests that would arrive early to keep up appearances of importance. 

 

The first three hours of the ball would likely be greeting people as they entered. Sitting in the ballroom, shaking hands and kissing cheeks as couples filed in one by one. Then they would all flow into the ballroom when the tradition was over, and people would be announced as they entered. But eventually, finally, he would be free to go about as he wished, meeting the people he would have ever had the chance to meet before that day. 

 

Adrien’s heart pounded in his chest as he changed out of his dirty clothes, sweaty from the kitchen heat and from running around the castle chasing a ladybug. He ignored the servants who were in his room, cleaning and dusting. They bowed their heads to him slightly as he entered, but otherwise kept at their work, and he was glad. It was not his place to interrupt their work. 

 

Once new, clean tunic and trousers replaced old ones, he straightened his hair in the mirror and opened the door to exit. Without looking up, he nearly ran into the large mass of a human that was his father. He wasn’t a large man, but tall. The cloaks and heavy ceremonial garb that he constantly wore made him look to be double the size that he actually was. He seemed to already be dressed for the ball, in immaculately pressed and embroidered cloak which fell to the ground and trailed a foot or so behind him. It would have picked up the dirt from the ground if there had been any to speak of. The serving hands had been hard at work to make every nook and cranny of the castle as pristine as possible. 

 

Purple and green flowers swirled and swelled around every part of his cloak and his vest, connected by thread of golden vines, leaves, and tendrils. The pattern looked endless, mesmerizing. That contrasted sharply with the sleek, pure gold of his breeches and undershirt, which shimmered like they were spun with actual gold. The only thing he was missing was his crown, which would likely be the same shining gold. 

 

“Adrien,” the king stated. All heads in the room turned toward the door, saw the king, and stopped in their tasks to bow deeply and shuffle towards the nearest wall. Without any further introduction, the king walked in Adrien’s chambers, the force of his entrance pushing the serving hands from the room like a physical effect. He swept past his son, heading directly towards the table and chairs in the center of the room. He sat regally, and held out a goblet in his hand to be filled by the only serving hand who remained in the room. Head bowed deeply, she poured him a goblet of wine. 

 

“It’s a little early, don’t you think?” Adrien asked, summoning the courage to speak first. 

 

“Don’t patronize me, Adrien,” he spat, waving a hand to dismiss the serving girl from the room. She bowed deeply and slowly, then turned her back and scurried as quickly as she could from the room. Those who were not used to serving the king were usually intimidated by his curtness, and by the fact that he had so much power to him. He was a force unto himself. The King took a long drag from his goblet and set it down with a satisfied sigh. He kept his eye on the chalice as he spoke to his son. “Close the door and sit down, Adrien.”

 

Adrien closed the door, but he refused to sit down. Instead, he stood with the same posture that was so commonly used against him, hands behind back, chin raised. The king sighed at the little show. 

 

“We have an agreement, do we not?”

 

“We have many agreements,” Adrien responded. It seemed so much more tense than it usually was. Adrien was generally able to persuade the king to his point of view rather easily, or at least change the dangerous aspects of his plans. But here, there felt to be a wall between them, and Adrien knew he no longer held any sway. They were two opposing forces, and he had no idea which one would give sooner. 

 

“Adrien,” the king sighed again, rubbing fingers deeply into his temples and taking another sip from his wine. “About your proposal-”

 

“I have until my birthday,” he interrupted, the fact important to him. He had a month after the ball still to find someone. Very little time, to be sure, but it was still time. He could find someone. He wouldn't be forced to marry someone he didn’t love. 

 

“Yes,” the king hissed. Adrien receded into himself at the display. “You have until your birthday to find someone. And I have someone in mind. I would like you to meet her.” He took another sip, finality in his words. 

 

Adrien knew what it meant. This girl would not be a choice in a month. She would be the rest of his life, and he would have no choice in the matter. A pit formed in the bottom of his stomach, all of his hopes now being dashed. What the king wouldn’t do to prevent Adrien from marrying for love, and for what? It was not the time for arguing. 

 

“I would gladly meet her.” 

 

This surprised his father, who looked up at him from over the rim of the goblet. “Indeed, you would. Tonight.”

 

“But I will not marry her.” 

 

The chalice slamming down on the table shocked Adrien from his dominant stance. He was a fool to think he had any power in the situation. 

 

“Don’t be petulant, Adrien.” 

 

“I will not marry someone I do not love,” he stated simply, refusing to raise his voice. The argument was heated, but neither yelled. 

 

“That is naive, and you know it.” 

 

“How? What is stopping me? Nothing stopped you from marrying who you chose. Nothing stopped you from marrying for love.”

 

“Those were different times. You are not held to the same standards that I was. You must do what is best for the kingdom.”

 

“I am!” He couldn’t keep his voice from raising, just a speck. His voice almost cracked on the words. “I always do what is in the interest of the people. Every day I would to undo damage that has been done by you, and every day I manage to keep people safe. My thoughts are always for the people. The one thing that I ask is to marry whom I wish. One thing!” 

 

“Adrien-”

 

“No, father.” Heat boiled in his chest. “I don’t understand. Why do you keep me back, why do you keep me busy? Do you not want me to marry for love? Is that it?”

 

“No, I-”

 

Adrien felt himself rambling on, not able to stop the words that flowed from his mouth. He could see the prickling on his father’s spine, the way his hand tensed around his goblet. “I have never understood why you keep me locked away from others. I am no longer a child, I don’t need protection! I can make my own choices, and I have been. But for whatever reason, this is what you will not bend on. You keep me away from meeting those I might love, don’t deny it. Even though this ball is happening, you are doing everything you can to keep me busy. You are doing everything you can to keep suitable girls at bay. And for what? Do you honestly think you’re helping me? I-”

“I am protecting you,” his father shouted. 

 

The world held silent for a moment. Adrien stared at his father, processed the words that came from him. 

 

“Adrien.” 

 

“From what?” He felt defeated. He would never understand his father’s motivations. 

 

The king, suddenly appearing far older than he ever looked, stood slowly. Wine was abandoned on the table as he straightened, while his shoulders hung. They had both been defeated, it seemed. 

 

“Adrien.... My son.” The briefest moment of eye contact was made, and Adrien saw a flash of pain within his father’s eyes. “Love- I’m protecting you….”

 

“You think you’re protecting me from love?”

 

“Love is dangerous, Adrien. It is painful. Excruciating.” Now their eye contact held, the king’s eyes pleading that his son understand. “You’re right. I was in love. Deeply, and truly in love. And I had that ripped away from me.” Adrien thought he saw a tear forming in the king’s eye, but with a blink, it was gone. The king stood straight finally, his full height realized as he towered in front of his son. “Do you understand, son?”

 

Maybe. He honestly didn’t know. Could he ever understand that pain? 

 

“I do.” A breath left his father. “But you’re wrong.” They stiffened again. “Love isn’t dangerous. It’s painful, yes, but everything is. I would rather find love, someone I truly love, than be forced to marry someone I wouldn’t be happy with. I would think you would understand that.” 

 

Quietly, Adrien left the room, leaving his father standing, both hearts aching for something they’re missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little angst before a shit load of fluff. It's what I do.
> 
> Edit: Damn I just reread the last scene. I'm so sorry. The pain is real.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette shares some intimate moments with others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while. This whole election thing has still got me spinning. Anyway. Here's a little bit of angst and fluff (my trademark) to make everyone feel a little less like moving to Canada. Enjoy!

“Marinette!” She heard the scream for what must have been the hundredth time in as many minutes. She was rushing between rooms, lacing and tightening corsets, straightening chemisettes, tying curling ribbons into hair or taking them out, braiding miniscule strands of hair, fastening crinolines and tying shoes. Luckily, they had spared no expense for their special day, and had made an appointment to get their makeup and hair done for the ball, so they were leaving the house very soon. But it still meant the rushing of Marinette on tired feet to get them in suitable enough condition to leave the house. 

 

She ran down the hall and unceremoniously rushed through the door, picking the piece of clothing that was thrown at her from the air. 

 

“Hurry,” Chloe spat. Marinette examined the cloth she held and saw it was a shawl whose lace had been torn terribly. 

 

“Chloe, I can’t fix this,” Marinette tried to explain. There were huge holes within the lace that would take weeks of expert hand stitching to mend. Entire patches of patterns had been torn out, and she wouldn't even know where to get threat that thin. 

 

“Nonsense,” the girl stated. “You can fix anything.” A strangely warm feeling spread through Marinette’s stomach at what felt like a compliment. 

 

“I’m flattered, Chloe, but this is beyond my expertise. Do you have another shawl?” Marinette dashed across the room to one of her armoires, She knew this one held her outerwear, and there were likely plentiful shawls and scarves for her to pick through. 

 

“None of the others go with the yellow.” 

 

It was truly a bright yellow, she noted. Louis had somehow found fabric that outshone the sun. In fact, it might have been made of the sun, it was so bright. The yellow shimmered with speckles of gold where it didn’t burn to look at it. She was sure it would look dazzling in candlelight, where it would sparkle delicately, but in the bright light of the high afternoon, it hurt to look directly at the fabric. 

 

Floating, delicate tiers of fabric made up the skirt of the dress, shimmering yellow-gold fabric obscured slightly by lacy hems. The brightness of the fabric shone through even the coverings of the lace, never to be hidden, much like the girl who wore the dress. The bodice cinched in almost painfully at the waist, drawn even tighter by the grand yellow ribbon tied around the slimmest part of her body. Lace and ribbon covered the upper part of the bodice, creating flow into sleeves of the same fabric as the skirts. It was beautifully composed, fitting over her body like a dream that only Louis could fabricate. 

 

Marinette sorted through some of the shawls within the cupboard, picking out several of all different shades of neutrals, and brought them over to Chloe. There were several that she knew would be no good, and she made sure to show them first. It was something she had learned quickly with her step sister, that she went with the very last choice, just to make it difficult on whoever was helping her. 

 

Despite what she went through on a daily basis, she wanted her stepsisters to look good. It gave her a strange satisfaction to see her work being so proudly displayed. She was very proud of herself for the hemming she did on the gowns. The lines were perfectly straight, and she had managed not to prick anyone with a needle, however much she wished she could reach. 

 

After Chloe had turned down shawls in different shades of blacks and browns, Marinette offered the creams and whites. Chloe pursed her lips at her options, and narrowed her eyes. 

 

“This is it?” 

 

“This is all that you own.”

 

Chloe scoffed at her options. “Of course. Nothing here is good enough for the prince. I’ll just have to buy something while we’re out in town.”

 

“The prince?” A flutter came to her stomach when she thought of the man that no one knew she knew. His kindness was all hers to know of. Their meetings were for her and him only. 

 

“Yes, of course. Why do you think we’re going to the ball in the first place? The prince is looking for someone to marry, and I want that to be me.” She perked up slightly and adjusted herself in the mirror. Her corset was by far the tightest Marinette had to tie that day. She wondered how the girl was able to breathe. She didn’t comment. 

 

“Go tell mother that I require a new shawl. Something lacy to match my dress.” Marinette didn’t comment about the fact that another piece of lace would make the dress seem maternal and aged. Louis had made the perfect choice with putting the lace in just the right spots to keep the dress young enough for Chloe. Any more and she would look like she had come from her daughter’s wedding, despite the freshness of the color she wore. 

 

Marinette bowed her head and went to tell Madame of Chloe’s needs. Juleka and Marinette had split the work between them, each serving five of the ten women while Rose was healing in the kitchens. She was able to sit up and prepare meals, though Juleka worried over her constantly, insisting that she take it slower. Rose insisted on doing work, however. She seemed to be of the same opinion of Marinette; having nothing to do was worse than having too much. 

 

Juleka served the aunts, and the three oldest cousins, leaving Marinette with two extra girls to work with. She didn’t mind, really. Manon was a terror, but she was learning to deal with the girls’ outbursts. 

 

A shaking fist knocked on the door of Madame’s quarters before entering. Marinette did not know where she stood with anyone anymore. The entire attitude of the house had shifted after Rose’s incident. The air was still thick with it, none more than with the older women of the house. 

 

Marinette entered slowly and bowed her head, stepping to the side of the door in case any others had to make their own appearance. Madame was sitting at her vanity, hands playing in her hair. She shifted small pieces this way and that, trying to fix what Marinette already knew was going to be redone later. 

 

“Madame,” she called across the room, keeping her head bowed. “Chloe has concerns about her shawl, and would like to purchase another while you are out today.”

 

The sigh that reached Marinette’s ears was not a pleased one. However, it was not the same disappointed cruelness that usually accompanied Madame’s interactions with her step daughter. She was almost defeated. Almost apologetic. The slope of her shoulders confirmed the theory. 

 

“Does she not have one that will satisfy her?”

 

“I believe she is just nervous. As are all the girls.” Marinette was unfamiliar with the feeling of conversation between her and Madame. Was this the result of the whipping? Or nerves for the ball? A ball of unsettled snakes coiled in her stomach. “Do you have a response?”

 

Madame turned her head slightly toward the door. As she did, she must have suddenly realized who she was speaking to, as her demeanor shifted entirely. Sloped shoulders straightened themselves as she stood, her chin pointing to the sky. “Tell her she may do as she pleases, as long as we are not delayed.”

 

“Very well,” Marinette stated and turned to leave. 

 

“Wait,” she heard, and turned back. Madame had made her way to the center of the room, standing in a shaft of shadow cast from the window. She looked threatening and imposing as she stood, her hands tightly held behind her back. The cruelness that she was used to expressing had returned, and in full force. “From our appointments, we will be going straight to the ball, so we will not be coming home.” This was a fact that Marinette already knew, but she didn’t dare to comment on it. “We should return by two. The girls and I need our beauty rest after all, and there shouldn’t be anyone important there after that time. Have tea prepared for us by then. Something soothing, waiting for us in our rooms.” 

 

Madame brought her hands in front of her, wringing them together. She must have been just as nervous as the girls, then. A wave of sympathy crashed through Marinette. She nodded in confirmation. “Will that be all?” She stood by the door still, head bowed only slightly, hands by her sides. 

 

Light washed over Madame as she stepped forward, creeping silently towards Marinette. The purple of her gown was rich and beautiful, an intricate pattern woven across the fabric that made it look like it was moving on its own as the light caught it. The dress was entirely simple, the skirts full and ending just before they touched the floor on every side. The square neck of the bodice was lined with ruffles that created a soft v in the middle of her torso, where the bodice met the skirts. Long sleeves ended in the same ruffles, long enough to surround her hands, but not enough that she would be unable to use them. Louis, even in the simple pattern, had created magic, as always. 

 

Marinette had always been taken more with the simple designs that Louis produced, the ones that let the material flow and compliment the wearer. Those dresses like Chloe’s, which were covered in ruffles, lace, and layers, were beautiful, rich, and well-crafted, but Marinette loved to look of the soft fabrics as they moved. She loved the idea that she could twirl and the length of material that started by her hips would spin out, creating a world of color around her. 

 

The pattern swirling through the fabric of Madame’s dress was much easier to see the closer she got. She crept closer as Marinette stood, watching without so much as a word, until she was directly in front of the girl. She stood a head taller than her step daughter in the heeled shoes she wore, but Marinette was already intimidated, despite the height change. 

 

A hand reached out towards her, and surprisingly warm fingers tipped her head upward, to look at Madame. Marinette saw something she had never had the chance to see before in the woman’s gaze. Sadness, all encompassing, tinged with a hint of wonder filled her stare as they looked each other in the eye. Confusion looked back. 

 

Madame held her there for a while, her eyes seeming to search for something deep within Marinette. She inched ever closer, her thin fingers curling under her chin. 

 

“You are so much like him,” she whispered, and the tension that had filled the air dissolved into open questioning.

 

Who? Marinette questioned in her mind, not daring to speak for fear of retribution. What an odd predicament she had found herself in. She wondered, not bothering to keep the confusion from her face, who Madame might have been talking about. Was it supposed to be degrading, maybe a past enemy who had rubbed her the wrong way? Could it be a compliment?

 

“You even sound like him,” she continued, and Marinette could have sworn she had tears in her eyes. Before she could look further into it, Madame’s name was called from down the hall. Their contact broke, the mask of severeness covering the woman’s face once again. Marinette bowed her head and Madame cleared her throat, pushing past the girl and down the hall. The incident was never to be spoken of, Marinette knew. The small act of gentleness was something that was not heard of in the household, and Madame wouldn't want her reputation to be ruined. 

 

Marinette shoved the display from her mind, resolving herself to the tasks at hand. Her name was, thankfully, called shortly thereafter, and she scurried off to go about her work. She told Chloe of her mother’s decision, must to the girl’s delight, and then went about making a small lunch for the women for their trip into town. Juleka would be with them all day, driving the carriage and making sure they made it to the ball. Marinette would be looking after the house and making sure Rose slept. 

 

No matter how much she plead otherwise, Marinette was sure Juleka was still angry at her for Rose’s condition. Marinette was still angry at herself, truthfully. Rose had been far too kind, to the point of martyrdom for her sake, and she hated that the situation had come about in the first place. Marinette made sure to check up on Rose every chance she got. Luckily, the girl was doing much better thanks to her own remedies. She must have possessed some sort of magic for the way they healed her so quickly. 

 

The house was always so eerie when it was empty. More and more over the last few days, the vast space that was the mansion seemed to be swelling, creating cavernous rooms for Marinette to get lost in. Her footsteps echoed down the halls, however soft she stepped, and she could hear the light wind outside the walls even when she was in the central chambers, not a window in sight. Silence crept in all around her, making her get up from where she sat and watched Rose sleep. 

 

At first, she wandered. Her excursions around the house always started with her wandering. One slim corridor led to another, some familiar, others foreign, until she was completely lost. Then she had to find her way out again, eventually finding a corner or cobblestone that she recognized. She got lost and found herself again over and over again, playing with her head to escape the cavernous silence that awaited her elsewhere. 

 

The spiralling stairs appeared almost out of nowhere, a comfort in the large space that surrounded her. Shafts of light pierced the swirling dust, warmth hit almost every corner of the massive room from the light of high noon outside. Marinette crept to the middle of the bottom floor, staring up at the dizzying effect of the staircase. It swirled along with the eddies of dust in the air, coming together to dance in her mind and at the corners of her vision. The light from the windows warmed her olive skin and played through her raven hair, casting shadows wherever she moved. 

 

Imagining she was dancing, she twirled back and forth across the floor. Her feet left track marks in the ground, disrupting the long-settled dirt. She created a melody in her head, one two and three notes repeating themselves. One two three. One two three. Until she was dancing around herself. 

 

Arms floated up to grasp an imaginary partner, pulling them close as her skirts lengthened into a beautiful gown that swelled around her like Madame and Chloe’s dresses would. Eyes closed, she felt the beautiful silks that she wore, tracing the embroidered patterns that fell across her skin. 

 

A longing crept into her chest, constricting around her heart as she thought about the ball she would be missing. Her cousins and step-siblings had taken the day to prepare for the glorious event. Even Juleka was allowed to attend, however little free time she would have when dealing with her mistresses. Rose would have been allowed, if she were in better shape. But Marinette never stood a chance. 

 

So she danced, flitting around the floor, feet light, arms extended, and head tilting every which way to counter her movements. She imagined the partners she would dance with, interchanging between silly men with moustaches that tickled their ears to young boys who were just learning the dance as she did. Then there were fancy, stuck up men with noses pointed to the ceiling, only dancing with her out of courtesy. There were large, stout men with money flowing from their pockets. Poor men who had only been able to make it for one night because their shops could only be closed for so long. There were servants off for the night, and guards who would show her the kindness of a prince. 

 

The prince. 

 

How she would love to dance with him. 

 

Stopping in her spinning only momentarily, she glanced across the room, imagining the crowds of people separating to make way for her next partner. He would be dressed in gold, the candle light shimmering through his hair to match. When he held his hand out to her, she would dissolve into his green eyes, they would pull each other close, and begin to dance. 

 

Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she spun herself around and around the empty room, thinking up dream people who stood around her and watched her dancing with her make believe partner. A giggle escaped her lips at the hilarity of it all. Her. Dancing with a prince. 

 

Giggles turned bitter as she rested her hands to her sides. This was her home for good. Even after she was sent away with her aunts to be worked to the bone, she would return here, her childhood home that had been gutted and replaced with empty trinkets and fake laughter and light, to work to her death. Nothing but skin and bones, she would serve until her last day, either by Chloe’s side or Sabrina’s, if they didn’t sell her off first. Maybe they would trade her for someone more competent. They would keep telling her how worthless she was. 

 

And Madame would tell her how much she sounded of her father, then send her away with spite. Because it was her father she must have been talking about. Who else? Did Madame hate her so much because she resembled him? The man who had given everything to his daughter, only to have it taken away and turned against her. What contempt she must have had for the man who gave her everything she now possessed. 

 

Bitter laughter turned to light sobs as she took in her surroundings. Every room in the house used to be filled with bright, natural light. Never were the windows covered unless the summer sun became unbearable, until Madame had began shutting her off to the world. The sun would bleach the fabrics of the furniture, she claimed, something that never would have bothered her parents. The sun brought life, and with it, the love that she had always been shown. What she would give to tear all of the curtains down and replace them with the vibrancy of the exterior world. 

 

A tear rushed down her cheek and she settled onto the dirty floor, not bothering with clearing a space for herself to sit. She was dirty enough already, a little more wouldn’t change anything. A drop of water in an ocean. 

 

The sun washed over her as small tear trickled down her face. Cavernous space reached above her, and she listened to the birds flit in and out of the cracked open windows, bringing life to the otherwise dead house. She sat and listened to them fluttering, tweeting at each other messages she would never learn to understand. 

 

A scuffle above her led to a crash on the weak floorboards of the stairs. A black cat flashed down the steps, following a bright blur of feathers that escaped its path. The bird flew straight into the air as the cat chased, leaping up with it, but narrowly missing, allowing the bird to escape into the rafters once again. Meanwhile, the cat tumbled and landed squarely in Marinette’s lap. 

 

She jumped at the new weight in her grasp, but found herself giggling. “Bad luck,” she told the mangy kitten who had settled into his new seat. He mewled up at her like he had heard that one before. Marinette giggled and patted his head, giving his ears and chin a scratch. He leaned into her hand, forgetting about his pursuits and instead accepting the gift of being pet. His paws began clawing in and out of her thigh, massaging her leg while he purred, pushing against her hand when he thought the pets were going away. She slowed her petting and settled both hands on his body, feeling the warmth carrying through her fingertips. 

 

“Bad luck,” she repeated. The sun still warmed her, this small piece of house that remained untouched from Madame’s regime comforting and secure, however old and dirty it seemed. 

 

The black cat sitting in her lap mewled up at her, large green eyes piercing into her, like they knew a secret she herself didn’t know. What a strange creature, she thought to herself, as the cat stretched itself lazily from her lap, seemingly content with her scratches and ready to move on to his next adventure. He stretched again next to her, circling her completely before finding himself under her right elbow. He looked once again up at her and cried, then began walking for the door. 

 

Once at the opening, he glanced back. Marinette remained where she had been sitting, her head tilted slightly to the side in question. What was this little guy doing? As if in answer, he cried for her, asking her without words to follow. 

 

Marinette found herself going along with his words, standing from the floor and tracing the steps he took to the door. He meowed contentedly and disappeared out the door, leaving her no choice but to chase after him, following blindly. 

 

The cat led her outside, the warmth of the afternoon hitting her in full force. She had not been outside all day, and the refreshing intake of air was startling. The kitchen were infinitely warmer, but the sun-ripened day had a completely different feeling. Glints of black fur appeared out of the corners of her eyes, flashing between plants in the gardens, crossing cobblestones, and zigzagging across the yard, making it as hard as possible for her to follow. 

 

Giggling in pursuit, she redoubled her efforts. Once stepping gently, and now almost jogging, she kept pace with the small creature, watching it hop over cracks in the stone, dodge low hanging plants, and careening around trees that spotted the yard. They were very soon at the edge of the property maintained grounds, the cat easily able to find a space between the low fence to climb through. Marinette had to go through the more difficult task of making it over the fence in full length skirts. There was an opening several meters off, but she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off of the cat as it began running full out. 

 

“Wait!” she cried as she peeled her skirts off of the fence, jumping down slightly and running after the streak of black. “Wait!” 

 

It was clear across the field by then, almost disappearing into a short line of trees while she was stuck on the fence. Undeterred, she ran after, following the imaginary trail her mind made as her eyes followed the cat. She recognized immediately where she was going, and wondered how the cat knew the place. 

 

They continued for several minutes, mixing between running, jogging and walking, the cat stopping only occasionally to look back and make sure he had not lost his human. He meowed sometimes, the sound a strange comfort. She laughed to him, then focused on picking her way through underbrush to make her way along his path. 

 

“It’s much easier when you’ve nothing to wear,” she told him. He sneezed in response. A piece of her skirt got caught in a thorny bush, and she had to stop to untangle herself. 

 

By the time she looked back up, her companion had left her. 

 

“Kitty?” she called, but there was no response. A looming emptiness left in her wake, and when she untangled herself from the bush, she stood silently for a moment. “Kitty!” she asked again, still with no answer. 

 

She began walking, determined to find her way without her guide. She knew the area better than anyone after all, so there was no chance she would be lost. 

 

Now resolute, she stalked through the weeds and grass and bushes, now and again extracting her skirts from a particularly sharp looking mess of brambles. By the time she heard the sound of rushing waters, she was parched and sweating, the unkind sun beating down on her face as she walked. She felt her cheeks pinken as she continued, finding refuge in the shade of the willow trees. The cool water looked so appealing, if she hadn’t been distracted first. 

 

A head she knew belonged to Adrien peaked up from the long, tangling grass that surrounded the brook. The sight of his blond head sent fluttering bugs through her stomach and chest, fighting with her heart and her lungs to be heard. Thin rays of light shone down on the little meadow from the trees, all tinted green and sparkling against the sheen of the thin stream. Marinette huffed silently and let her hands free of her skirts, allowing all to fall to her sides in relaxed surprise. 

 

“Adrien?” she asked, although she knew it to be him already. 

 

He turned his head, a smile brightening his face more than she thought possible when the sun was already haloing him in light. “Marinette!” He didn’t rise to greet her, not that she expected him to, but there seemed to be something weighing down his movements. She took a step closer and saw, sprawled out in his lap, the very same cat she had lost minutes before. 

 

“There you are,” she scolded softly. “I thought you had left me.” 

 

Adrien looked from the cat, who was completely unbothered and relaxing in a comfortable lap, to Marinette with a gleam in his eye. “You two know each other?” 

 

Laughter escaped her lips and she approached, letting herself be almost comfortable in the space between them. She sat a distance away from him, still not sure of herself, and settled into the soft grass. Legs spread out before her, she spoke. “We just met today. He decided it was a good idea to lead me out here.”

 

“A lot of your excursions seem to be dictated by animals.”

 

A genuine laugh escaped her lips, bubbling from her frantic gut. He was so casually beautiful out there with her. She had no idea what he would look like for a formal event, or even an event of any kind, like a ball. What would he look like that very night, dancing with countless women and meeting with hundreds of his subjects? He was sure to look magnificent. 

 

“And you seem oddly free, for a man who has a ball to be attending.” Marinette smiled kindly, hoping her words weren’t too presumptuous. 

 

But he let out an equally kind sigh of laughter. “I take all the free time I can get. It’s not often that there are such long periods of time where I can do what I wish.”

 

“I know the feeling.” Fingers fiddled with her skirts as she talked, trying to distract herself from the blush that was piling up behind her cheeks. She kept her eyes away from him in any way she could, hoping to prevent her oncoming heart attack, which meant mostly staring at the cat snoozing in his lap, or glancing at the small frogs that were waking up in the stream. 

 

He offered her a look, and on his way caught a glance at her footwear. A small gasp escaped his lips. “You got them!” A rush of joy accompanied his smile, and she had no choice but embrace the full impact, grinning along with him. The blush she had been trying to keep at bay came up full force, rushing to her cheeks and turning her entire face, including her ears, a bright shade of red. 

 

“Yes, I did. Well, my friend did. I mean, I guess - I -” she deflated in on herself. There was no use telling him the truth. What could be done, after all. “It’s complicated. But thank you. They’re wonderful.” She meant it, and knew by the way his face lit up even more that he appreciated the thanks. 

 

“Of course,” he beamed. “It’s not very often that I get a chance to do things for others. I mean, my father barely allowed me to leave the castle after my mo-” his voice broke over the word and pain seeped into his gaze. Marinette looked up at him with concern. He shook his head and turned to watch the water pool and flow down the stream. The surface broke over a large rock where several dragonflies were twirling, avoiding the splashing of the water and twisting back into the air to dance with each other. “After my mother died, I wasn’t allowed outside castle grounds. My father has been overly protective of me ever since. He hasn’t - hasn’t allowed me any freedom until I insisted upon it this year.” He tried to laugh, but it came out bitter. There was a wall built around him, something impenetrable and hard. Marinette wanted to offer a hand, but his were busy working at the cat in his lap. His fingers kept busy as he spoke. “So it’s been a while.”

 

A long silence followed. Both insisted on averting their gazes, looking at anything but each other. Their fingers twisted in their laps, at the fabric of their clothes, at the grass around them, or, in Adrien’s case, the creature in his lap. Their eyes darted quickly to and fro, trying to avoid looking at one another, but failing more often than not. Marinette gave up and closed her eyes against the brightness of the world, curling into herself and placing her head upon her knees while her arms gripped at the opposite elbows on either side of her legs. She hummed softly to herself and swayed back and forth with the breeze, enjoying the company of Adrien, the feeling of him next to her. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she managed to squeak out. He glanced over his shoulder to her, but her eyes remained resolutely trained on her hands. “For your mother. I -” she struggled to find the words. “I know what that’s like.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. His attention was completely on her now, rapt. 

 

The firm gaze left her shifting in her seat, so he glanced away. 

 

“My mother died when I was born,” she told him although she didn’t quite know why. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and though she knew they wouldn’t fall, she blinked rapidly anyway. “I never knew her. But… I knew my father. He was a good person, as I’m sure your mother was. And is. They still live on. I mean, that’s what I believe. They can’t have just disappeared. They’re still here, guiding us, showing us the right path.” His eyes wouldn’t stray from hers. For a moment, it looked like he was looking for something in them. And maybe he was. 

 

“Thank you, Marinette,” he told her, frankly. There was no emotion in it, though it seemed to be overflowing in the tight line of his lips, the cinched quivering of his brow, the crystallized tears that refused to fall from his lashes. She laid a hand on his shoulder, but only felt the wall that he had built there. 

 

It was tall, cold stone, fortified with guarding soldiers that patrolled every hour. Nothing came in or went out. Everything was analyzed and checked, coordinated when outside of the watchful eye of the castle. Nothing could slip up. Nothing could be shown. He was the prince. 

 

Marinette felt his cage like she felt hers. There was no freedom in their states, though they existed in completely different terrain. 

 

Adrien turned to her abruptly, startling the sleeping cat in his lap. The tears were gone, a smile in their place. “I know this may not do much, but I would like to make one last effort.”

 

Marinette began to smile, too, unable to resist the charms that were being used as a defense. 

 

“Will you come to the ball? Just one night-” he tried to finish his thought before she interrupted, but she was firm in her stance. 

 

“You know I can’t.”

 

“Why can’t you?” he was almost pleading. 

 

“I must look after the house. There are things to be done. Chores, feeding the animals, caring for Rose-” 

 

“You can’t even make it out for a night?”

 

Her smiled betrayed her. 

 

“A half of a night? Just the evening?”

 

She laughed in spite of herself. “Thank you Adrien, really, for taking the interest in me. But even if I did come, what would I wear? I’m not exactly presentable.”

 

He took a look at her clothing, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “I’ve seen worse.” They both laughed. 

 

“Thank you. I can’t.”

 

He was disappointed. They both were. But there was no way Marinette would be able to make it out and back in time to do everything that needed to be done, and not be seen by Madame and her aunts. 

 

“Alright,” he conceded. “It was nice to see you.” He stood, ignoring the complaints of the old cat in his lap as he set it on the ground. 

 

It hit Marinette that this might be the last time they ever saw each other. What with her leaving, not knowing when she would return, and his becoming king. They were both changing states in irrevocable ways. There was almost no chance at all that they would see each other outside of the castle, and Marinette made it very clear that she was unable to do as such. Perhaps, then, it made sense as to why he wanted so much for her to attend. 

 

Marinette stood as well, letting the cat rub up against her shin. She stuck a hand out for him to shake. “It was very nice to meet you, Adrien.”

 

He took her hand hesitantly, not willing to make it final. She was having a hard time of it, too. When he grabbed her hand, she wanted to badly to rip it away and refuse to let him ever leave. But they shook hands, Adrien leaning down ever so slightly, and brushing his lips over the top of her knuckles. A blush spread across both of their faces as he pulled away, with a hushed whisper. 

 

“It was nice to meet you, Marinette. Farewell.”

 

“Farewell,” she could barely make out as he turned his back on her and mounted the horse that had been straying not too far away. He didn’t turn back to wave, however much Marinette willed it. She watched him long enough for him to disappear from her vision, and she slumped down in his absence. 

 

After several minutes of sitting silently by herself, allowing the wind to tousle at her hair, she felt a nudging at her side. The black cat who had brought her here was tugging at her pocket, scratching harshly. One of his nails caught at her skin and she hissed involuntarily, knocking him away with a deft hand. She patted the place he had scratched, and felt a familiar presence there. 

 

The black box was even brighter in the light of the afternoon. It shimmered and glowed, refracting the light in iridescent patterns, nearly blinding her several times. She opened the box again, knowing the way now, after having done so before, and found the small, ruby-looking jeweled earrings nestled inside. 

 

For the first time, she touched one, sneaking her finger down in the black box and caressing the outside of the jewel, the coldness of the mineral surprising her, while it shocked her with electricity. With a quick flip of her wrist, she overturned the contents of the box into her open palm. The earrings clinked together as they tumbled, creating new light. 

 

Marinette studied them, turning them over and over in her palms, the clips that would attach themselves to her ears a shimmering metal the same black color as the box. The black cat who sat next to her positioned himself in front of her, looking into her palms as she did with large green eyes. He glanced up to her and back down several times, finally giving her a quiet mewl. 

 

She relented. Despite a strange foreboding in her gut, she reached for the clasps of the jewels. One first, then hesitating with the second. 

 

There was a tremble to her fingers she didn’t quite understand. It was just earrings. She took a final look at the cat in front of her, glancing over her shoulder to search in vain for something or someone to distract her. 

 

Finding nothing, she continued. 

 

She clasped the black metal jewel on her ear, and waited. 

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing. 

 

Nothing. 

 

A flash of light.


	14. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien makes some friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooo excited about this chapter. The ball is finally happening, guys! We're getting introduced to new characters, the plot is finally moving forward, love is gonna bloom and friendships will be tested and all that. Ugh! I love it! I hope you guys do, too!

Meeting and greeting had become a ritual Adrien never wanted to perfect. Smiling, shaking hands, thanking them for being there. It was a formality, a tradition, that he hated. He would never get to know those people whose hands he shook. He would never be able to make anything deeper than a lingering impression of their names and faces. 

 

A man passed him with a diamond in his lapel as large as a tooth. Another man passed who had to quickly swipe a chicken feather from his hair before he wiped dirty hands on his torn breeches. A woman with obviously fake teeth of all different size and color was paired with a little girl so timid, she didn’t even walk, but rather dragged behind her mother. Some wore expensive-looking masks that went with their dresses and suits while hiding their identity, along with silly names to match. Others had adorned themselves with face paint and jewels glued to their skin. 

 

He was proud to stand before the people. His people. 

 

He worked so hard to make it to this place, and to be able to have as many subjects from as many walks of life as possible in one room. It still astounded him that this was the product of something that _he_ had done. 

 

 _He_ had arranged the ball, from the flower arrangements to the tapestries. _He_ had somehow forced his father’s hand into inviting the whole kingdom. _He_ was standing before them, proud and sure that what he had done was the best for not only his people, but himself. 

 

It had been too long since something like this had made him feel so good. 

 

He wanted to be down among them, talking with the subjects who had never had a bed to sleep in next to those who had too many rooms in their home to keep track of. He was tired of standing and smiling and being the representative of a beautiful kingdom. He wanted to be a part of it, for once. 

 

The opening procession took hours. He was prepared for it, having been a part of one almost every year for his mother’s birthdays, but there was anxiety in his chest that wanted to get it over with. 

 

By the time he was sure he had shaken the hands of every person in the capitol, there was still a line out the door. 

 

Finally, as the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, and the torches and candles were lit all across the castle, the last introduction was formally made. There would be many more hands to shake later, as he walked around the room, but he would be away from his father’s prying eyes, and he would be able to make a real impression on his people. 

 

A smile was not to be kept from his face as the line died down to nothing. Guards at the door were still told to make introductions to those who came in late, but Adrien wouldn’t have the responsibility of meeting them personally unless he wanted to. 

 

Just as he was about to step down from the literal pedestal he and his father stood upon - well, he stood, while his father sat regally on his throne - his father put a had on his arm. 

 

“Adrien. There is someone I would like you to meet.” His voice was soft, but stern, as always. 

 

Adrien restrained himself from sighing. Of course. The king was a smart man. He knew if he let the prince go too soon, he would never get hold of him again for that evening. 

 

“Yes, father?” 

 

The king stood slowly and began walking down the steps of the pedestal, his long cloak practically floating behind him. “Come,” he said, as if Adrien wasn’t already following behind like a berated duckling. 

 

The main hall was packed with people mulling about, meeting with one another as they made their way into one of the many ballrooms laden with food, drink, and music. The noise was cacophonous the farther towards the center they got. Adrien had to admit he was confused. Would it not be more like his father to set up a private audience?

 

They made their way through the crowd, shaking hands and smiling diplomatically as they went, never truly stopping to greet any one person. Adrien followed his father into the largest of the ballrooms, where dances were already being started. There were crowds of people sitting at tables, standing by those laden with food, twisting and curling in the center of the room where the music was the loudest. The sight brought a bright smile to Adrien’s face. Children played hide and seek under one table, sprinting across the dance floor, through skirts and around polished shoes. 

 

“Adrien,” his father said. The tone would be scolding if it didn’t have to remain so polite. 

 

They had stopped near the side of the ballroom, where a small conglomeration of people stood, all golden-skinned and long-haired. Their dresses were of the richest fabrics, standing out in oranges, greens, and blues. The detail was thick, embroidery spinning across every piece they wore, including the socks, featuring what must have been the house crest. 

 

All of the women had masks applied to their faces, curving around their eyes and noses to enhance the color of their eyes and the shape of their cheekbones. The mother, dressed in vibrant blue and green, had peacock feathers pluming from her forehead and down the train of her dress. Some long quills were tied into her curly black hair as well. The youngest of the daughters had long bunny ears and a white dress that would be dirty as soon as her mother let her have some free time. The young girl could not have reached double digits yet, and was itching to play with the other children she saw spinning around the room. 

 

The oldest daughter had a fox-like mask on, with a t-shaped stripe of orange running up her nose and across her forehead that matched the vibrant color of her dress. The eyes of the mask were lined with black and the rest remained a crisp white, along with a line of fur along the outer edges of the bottom of the mask, creating points going down her cheeks. The bodice of her dress hugged her generously, cinched so tight it looked painful, and the skirt fell in luscious waves down to the floor. The fur of a fox draped around her shoulders, which she petted at with long, black-gloved fingers. 

 

Adrien bowed deeply though he know not to whom as his father introduced the family. 

 

“These are the Rossi’s, a house from Italy’s Damocles kingdom. We are very fortunate to have them here this weekend.”

 

“We are very fortunate to be here,” said the father of the group. He had a large belly and a larger moustache. A tall man, he didn’t quite meet the stature of Gabriel, but he towered over the rest of his family. Two sons and three daughters encircled him as he held one arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Thank you so much for your invitation, Your Majesty. It has been too long since we’ve made our way into Agres.”

 

“It has, Aldo.” Adrien was shocked to hear his father using someone’s first name. Usually, everything was completely formal all the time. Last names or staunch looks. “May I introduce you to my son, the prince, Adrien Agreste.” 

 

Adrien felt obliged to bow again, so he did, though must shallower this time. The family did the same, all bodies bending slightly and then resuming their perfect posture as before. Who appeared to be the oldest daughter came forward and offered her hand. 

 

“What a pleasure it is to meet you, Your Highness.” Hazel green eyes were almost hidden behind fringe that tickled at her eyelashes as she batted them. A small, shy smile peeked up at him through painted red lips. 

 

He grabbed her gloved hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles very slightly. “Please, Adrien. I insist.” It was mostly for his comfort, but the Rossi family were roused either way. 

 

“Getting along already, are we, good boy?” Aldo chuckled mirthfully as Adrien righted himself. The girl blushed ferociously at her father’s interjection. 

 

“Father, please,” she whispered urgently behind her. 

 

“Ah, Lila, my dear. You know I love to jest. Go, have fun you two.” 

 

Adrien looked to his father. Neither of them had been expecting such a greeting, but his father did not look too displeased. The point had been made, either way. Lila was a good girl from a rich, powerful family in another kingdom that would make a good ally. It was clear from her introduction that she has been coached on what was to be expected of her. Greetings from the rest of the family were not nearly as forward. 

 

The pair separated from the rest of their family and pushed forward into the crowd of dancers and other ball-goers. 

 

Adrien offered his hand to dance, and Lila took it with a shy nod. She only ever looked up at him occasionally, glancing through her bangs to catch a glimpse of his face. Otherwise, she stared at the ground. 

 

When they began dancing, however, Lila looked directly into his eyes, and kept his gaze fiercely, determined. Adrien placed his hands carefully on her waist and in her hand, preparing to lead from a distance, keeping a respectable amount of space between them. She had other ideas, however. 

 

Her hand gripped onto his shoulder and clasped his hand, pulling him as close to her as possible, while making direct eye contact. 

 

Adrien startled by the dramatic shift in attitude, and she took that opportunity to start a conversation. 

 

“So, Adrien,” she began, finding the rhythm of the music naturally, while he had to concentrate to find the beat. “This is quite the party you’ve made for yourself.” Her smile was no longer shy and reserved, but struck him full-force. Her made-up eyes blinked up at him, creating their own fanning effect. 

 

“Ye-yes. We’ve been planning for quite some time.” 

 

“So it appears. You’ve done a marvelous job. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time.” She didn’t glance around to confirm her suspicions, but continued looking directly at him. He, on the other hand, looked over the top of her head to inspect the room. There were smiles abound, laughter filled whatever space the music left, with a background of chatter and clinking cutlery. 

 

“So they seem,” Adrien noted, glad at what he saw. 

 

“And you?”

 

Adrien looked back at the girl in his arms. “Excuse me?”

 

“How are you enjoying your night?”

 

“Well, meet and greets are not the most invigorating portion of the ball, but there is still plenty of time left to the day.”

 

She seemed to shift closer to him, if at all possible. “Indeed, there is. Have you met anyone interesting?”

 

“In fact, you are the first person I have met outside of shaking their hand. The first person I’ve danced with. The first one I’ve talked to, actually, outside my father.” Not exactly true. He and his serving people had talked about their excitement for the day. He had last minute arrangements to confirm with quite a few groups. 

 

“Really?” Lila asked, a pleased smile crossing her lips. “That seems unlikely that the prince wouldn’t have danced with the whole crowd by now.”

 

“It does seem unlikely, doesn’t it?” Adrien found his father’s eye across the room. Bitterness crept into his posture. 

 

“Well, I am absolutely flattered,” she said, gripping tighter to his shoulder. Adrien tried to bring a smile to his face. It was harder than he expected, dancing with her. It wasn’t her fault. He was sure she was a nice girl. But his father’s prodding towards her had left a bad taste in his mouth, and the glances he afforded toward the man were not helping, either. No doubt the king had an entire line of suitable girls waiting to dance with him, just to distract him from finding someone on his own. “It’s quite an honor to dance with the prince.”

 

“Oh, I’m not that special,” he said. 

 

She giggled. “Oh, please. You’re wonderful.”

 

How would she know? She wouldn’t, would she? He plastered the fake smile on his face and thanked her, reminding her that she must be wonderful as well, to be so kind. But it didn’t feel like kindness. It felt like manipulation. Smoke and mirrors. She didn’t mean what she said. The words were empty. 

 

That wasn’t fair, he thought to himself. She had probably heard about him, being the prince, renowned even without his kingdom. It was okay for her to make assumptions about him, even if they were false. No matter, he continued dancing, continued talking. Her orange skirt fluttered around them as they twirled across the dance floor. Every eye that wasn’t focused on their partner or their food was trained toward them, the prince and the first girl of the night. 

 

Lila was the oldest of her sisters, she told him, though her brothers were both older than she was, and she was responsible for marrying well. She didn’t exactly put it that way, but the implications were clear. And who would be more husband material than a prince? Her family would be set for life. 

 

Every once in awhile, the guard at the door would announce someone who was just arriving, and Adrien would glance up, distracted from the dance for a moment. It didn’t amuse his partner. She laughed at most everything she said, even adding in a few quips of her own, but they all felt shallow. He felt shallow about the things he was telling her. 

 

And perhaps that was the point. It was a ball, afterall. Were they meant to make a real connection? Or would everyone he talked to be set to conversationalist, ready for small talk about the price of the flowers, or the weather. Had he made a mistake, thinking the ball would lead him to find some kind of love? 

 

The song ended and Lila curtsied gracefully, Adrien bowing along with the other men on the dance floor. 

 

“It was very nice to meet you, Adrien.”

 

“And you. Have a wonderful evening.”

 

She brought her hand up again for him to kiss, and he did so with all the formality he could muster. They parted ways and Adrien wasn’t surprised to see another woman waiting with her arms ready to take him through another dance. He bowed to every partner for the next hour, taking their hands and pulling them close, leading them around the dance floor and making talk so microscopic it made Adrien’s head throb. He smiled when he was expected to smile and laughed when he was expected to laugh. His masks of emotions flowed out in perfect time, but none of them felt truthful. 

 

As the night wore on, he became more and more tired of the routine. Dancing with one beautiful girl after the next. It was some people’s dream, to be treated so kindly, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was distracted. 

 

He left the dance floor to speak with a group of people by the tables of food. He was greeted kindly and asked his input of a political matter he had not had the time to think of in weeks. He added his two cents ad went on to talk with others, onto another mundane topic that reached right to the edges of being interesting. 

 

After another hour, his mind had gone numb. He spotted his father walking with a group of important looking men and caught his eye. 

 

They shared a brief moment. The king nodded to Adrien as he walked, very slightly, but just discernable. It told him what he had suspected: it wasn’t just the king’s doing that lead him to be so distracted. The ball itself was a distraction. There was too much to do, so many people to meet. As the prince, he had obligations. He had to talk with people, to say nice things to them. To be suffocated by the traditions that he hated. 

 

Adrien suppressed the upset that boiled inside him. He had done this to himself. 

 

The cold night air flew at his face as he opened the doors to the garden. This set was kept closed to prevent the cool air from blowing out the candles, but Adrien had gone through them nonetheless, finding the path of least resistance to get outside so he could breathe. 

 

He walked without knowing where he was going, an activity that he found himself doing more and more recently. His feet took him where they wanted, and he followed blindly, upset with himself for not realizing what he had done. 

 

How stupid he had been for not realizing it sooner that his father had gone along with the ball idea for exactly this reason. There was no way, and he knew this now, that he was going to meet anyone of substance. He was the prince, after all. No one would have their guard down when talking to the prince. They would try to impress and shmooze. They would put on their best behavior and try to get him to like them. There would be no substance, nothing that he wanted. 

 

The night disappeared around him as he made it to the center of the labyrinthine maze, to the gazebo he always had found comfort in. The tall hedges on every side were laced with light, Lanterns and candles set up every which way to provide a path to walk. The gazebo shone white in the candlelight, as the fire flickered and cast moving shadows onto the wood. Adrien walked to the center and found a bench to settle onto. 

 

Disappointment bubbled in his chest. 

 

He sat for a long while, twirling his thumbs around each other as he thought. He listened to the music from the main castle, the cheering and laughter and talk of people enjoying themselves. 

 

He decided then that it didn’t matter what his future entailed, only that of his people. This night wasn’t even for him, really. He never wanted to be the center of attention. He wanted his people to have a fun night, a night of celebration, something that had been devoid in so many lives for so long, and that’s what he’d given them. It wasn’t about him. 

 

It never had been. 

 

A flash of something small and red flicked across the edge of his vision. The feeling of deja vu overwhelmed him and he turned to find a small bug floating near his head, searching for a place to land.

 

“Hello,” he said, as if it could understand. 

 

The ladybug found a space to settle on the bench next to him, atop a small black box that he swore he left in his room for safe keeping. A strange foreboding fear came over him as he looked at it. How had it gotten out here? Had someone been following him? Did someone try to steal it? Why was it out here in the first place, in one of the most secluded and private places on castle grounds?

 

A quick glance around the clearing told him that there was no one else in the vicinity. It was just him, a bug, and a box. 

 

He took the box in his hands, once again feeling the sharp edges and smooth surfaces of the small cube. The ladybug fluttered around him, so close he could hear the buzzing of its wings, and came to settle on one of his fingers that held the box. How strange, he told himself. 

 

Upon closer examination, he could see a small seam running diagonally across every surface of the cube. Perplexed, he began fiddling with it, pushing and prodding at every side to see if it would open, or if something would move. It didn’t budge. 

 

Frustrated, Adrien placed the cube back down on the bench and settled his head into the palm of his hand. 

 

The ladybug seemed a little peeved now, buzzing quickly around the box, as if urging it to open on its own. A conversation passed between the two, nudging each other back and forth, seeing who would budge first. 

 

The ladybug won, it seemed, as the seams of the box began to shift, and a soft glow poured out from them. Satisfied, the bug flew away. 

 

Adrien was shocked. He picked up the box again in his hand, a new heat found within, and nudged the recently opened seam further. It cracked open easily, a geometric pattern unfolding itself to show a small cavity with a silver ring nestled within. The ladybug appeared again, this time fluttering down onto the ring, causing the old metal to glow a little brighter from the emerald gems in its face. 

 

He took the ring from the container, which snapped shut in his hands with finality. He set the box down and examined the ring. It was worn around the edges, but the metal looked pure and relatively unblemished. The jewels set into the face were arranged into the shape of a paw, reminiscent of his house crest, and shimmered in the dull light of the gazebo, refracting light here and there. 

 

Beautiful, he thought, as he slipped the over sized ring onto his finger. 

 

The metal closed around him, causing Adrien to jump and begin trying to pull it off. The ring began glowing more heavily, the light hurting his eyes. He closed them just as a brilliant flash of light that would have nearly blinded him emitted from the ring. 

 

He didn’t want to open his eyes, for fear of what might have occurred. First one, and then the other opened and he looked around himself. Nothing seemed to have changed, but the ring now fit snugly onto his finger. He attempted to pull it off once again, but it remained stubbornly attached. 

 

“Stop it, kid.” 

 

The voice startled him. He stood quickly and looked all around him, his head whipping from one side of the clearing to the other, even above him, just to make sure. 

 

“You’re gonna give yourself whiplash.” 

 

Adrien narrowed in on the voice, following it to a small creature sitting on the box the ring had come in. Catlike green eyes stared up at him from a tiny black body. White canines peaked from the corners of his mouth, and long black whiskers trailed on either side of his body, touching the edges of the box. His black legs, clawed at the end, crossed themselves as he examined his front claws nonchalantly. Adrien’s mouth had dropped open as he stared. Fuzzy-looking black ears poked from the top of the creature’s head, lined with pink and covered in soft fur. 

 

“Kid, you’re staring.”

 

Adrien fell back with shock. Despite this being the only other creature to exist in the area, he did not expect the voice he heard to come from it. He shook his head, rattled, and looked harder at the little thing. 

 

“I’m sorry, I just-”

 

“I get it. You’ve never seen a god before. We’re not exactly what you’d expect to see popping out of a magic lantern, right?”

 

“What?”

 

“Nevermind. Wrong century. Anyway, I am Plagg, your new companion. Well, it’s more accurate to say that you’re my companion but we like to make the little ones feel important. Now, I grant special abilities, mostly agility and speed, but some other really cool stuff that you’ll have to upgrade to, got it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good. Now, when you wear the ring, I appear to you, and _only_ you. So don’t start going around talking to your magic fairy friend or you’ll be locked up within a week. I don’t care that you’re a prince. People don’t like crazy. So don’t take the ring off, or I won’t be able to give you advice, got it?”

 

“Um-”

 

“Good. You can summon me by saying “Claws Out.” See? Claws? I’m a cat. That should be easy for you to remember. When I am summoned, people will not recognise you. They will see you in a mask, but there’s a lot of magic voodoo that goes on behind the scenes to make sure no one recognises you. So you can’t go up to pops and ask him for a handful of money or you’ll be stabbed by the nearest guard. I can protect you from the whole stabbing thing, but it takes a lot out of me, and I have to recharge.

 

“Speaking of, do you have any camembert?” 

 

“Wait, what, like the cheese?”

 

“Yeah, it’s my favorite. I could go for a nice gouda, but camembert is where it’s at. Crap. Sorry. Wrong century again.” 

 

Adrien, still on the floor, stared up at the creature, confused. “So what’s happening again?”

 

Plagg sighed heavily, his head falling backwards dramatically. “Alright.” Suddenly, startling Adrien - although at that point, a leaf falling on his head could startle him - the fairy flew straight at his face, at eye level. “I’m magic. You’ve got a little magic fairy in your pocket at all times. I am to act as your advisor until death do us part or whatever.” Another sigh as Plagg crossed his arms across his chest. “There’s a big storm coming, kid.”

 

“Wait, _what?_ ”

 

“It’s nothing you have to worry about right now. For now, you have to do your duty as prince and find someone to marry and all that. Be the perfect king, have the perfect children, live the perfect life, the model of your country. You need to be what your kingdom needs. Can you do that?” Plagg buzzed a little closer to Adrien now, eyeing him up. 

 

If there was anything that Adrien was able to do, it was be what his people needed. He had been doing that since day one. A role model, a lawmaker, a worker for his country. He knew he would do whatever it took to protect it. 

 

So it came naturally for Adrien to nod to Plagg, a confidence building in his stomach. He didn’t know why he felt the need for validation from this strange, floating, cat-creature who called himself a god, but a rush of companionship blossomed between them nonetheless. 

 

“I’m glad to hear it, kid.” Relief came over Plagg, his shoulders relaxing, his eyes softening. 

 

“Thanks.” Adrien didn’t quite know what to make of the situation. “So…?”

 

“You’ve got a ball going on, right?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“You having a good time?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Great. What’s the whole point of this shindig?”

 

Adrien looked over his shoulder in the direction of the castle, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see it through the hedges. He could still hear the music, the laughter and talking of the people getting louder as the night got to its apex. He should really get back to make more appearances. 

 

“Well, it was originally for me to meet someone to marry, but recently it’s taken a different turn. I mean, I just want to congratulate the people for… being my people? I want them to feel appreciated is all.” 

 

Plagg eyed up the boy sitting on the dirty wooden floor of the gazebo. He nodded slightly and looked over Adrien’s shoulder. “That’s pretty noble, kid. Pardon the pun.”

 

Adrien smiled broadly. “That’s alright.” 

 

“So. You’re looking for a girl, is that right?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“How’s that going for you so far?”

 

Adrien shrugged. “Not good. My father-”

 

Plagg raised a paw to stop him from speaking. “Yeah, I don’t really care. You gotta get yourself a girl. Can’t be a king without a queen, now can you?”

 

“I mean, historically-”

 

“Women have done much better than men, yes I know. I’ve lived through it. Got the t-shirt.”

 

“What?”

 

“Damn! I gotta get my centuries right.” Plagg settled on the knee of Adrien, crossing his legs again. “Look kid. We’re gonna be together for the long haul, alright? We gotta get used to each other. That means not staring at me like I’m gonna murder you, okay?”

 

Adrien blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his head. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve just-”

 

“Yeah, I know, kid.” Plagg flew into the air with a little flourish. “So, are you ready to get back in there? Meet a nice lady, fall in love?” 

 

Adrien smiled slightly. He still didn't really have a clue what was happening, but he got the feeling that tides were turning in his favor. He would have a little freedom after all. He wouldn’t have to be a prince for the entire three day event. The thought was exhilarating. 

 

“Yeah,” Adrien said. He found himself nodding enthusiastically, then standing. “Yeah, I am.” A smile spread across his face. 

 

“Alright then. Say the magic words.”

 

“Plagg,” Adrien said definitively. 

 

“Claws Out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is a link to my references and drawings and such to show what the dresses look like. These contain (slight) spoilers for what Marinette will look like next chapter, but not really, since they're all references, not the actual thing. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SjvrfqLcot0LDBlkDLiFLPP81FaFvUWI6c_SDwrBFqo/edit?usp=sharing


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette arrives at the ball!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Goodbye, you shitstorm of a year 2016! Hello happy feelings and dancing cats!

Marinette arrived to the ball as it was getting to its peak. Music flooded down the steps of the palace, light filled the sky, and the sound of laughter and chattering people made her stomach flutter. She touched her new earrings for comfort, their warmth spreading through her fingertips. 

The simple gems she had clasped to her ears hours before had transformed into dangling chandelier droplets. The center jewels remained the same, but wings of diamond-like crystals fanned down, filling the space that was voided by her hair, which was now tied atop her head in curling swoops and swirls, while perfect tendrils fell along the sides of her face. 

Lips painted red, eyes lined with thin streaks of black, and her skin as smooth and perfect as that of someone who had never seen the sun made her feel unlike herself, and brand new. She felt as if she had never spent any of her days working. Her hands were no longer calloused and rough, but felt as smooth as Chloe’s. Her usually tight muscles had relaxed with rest she hadn’t felt in years, and her breath came easily from her chest.

The dress that Tikki had assembled did not compare with anything that Louis had ever made. 

A tight, red lace bodice held itself up without a strap, dotted with glimmering black jewels that looked like the spots of a ladybug. The lace and gems hugged her every curve as they dissolved around her waste, flowing into the most beautiful fabric Marinette had ever seen. While it looked pure, clear white from one angle, when she moved, iridescent color shimmered through the entire length of the skirts, resembling the wing of an insect. When she twirled, the skirts flew around her and seemed to give off their own light. 

While the layers of fabric should have been heavy, she felt feather light, like she was wearing nothing at all. Red velvet gloves encased her hands, molded perfectly to her fingers, though she could feel through them, every touch of the wind, even the texture of the magical fabric she wore. It felt as she imagined light would feel, warm and soft and inviting. The shawl that covered her shoulders was made of the same velvet of her gloves, lined in black at the collar and around the bottom edges. The cover had a shape onto itself, acting as a shell along her back, almost bug like in its form, but opened in the front to reveal the majesty that was her dress. 

She felt like royalty as she walked from the glass carriage headed by four white horses with glimmering golden reins and harnesses. Their hair shimmered the same iridescent color as Marinette’s gown, fluttering as they trotted down the cobblestone streets. Her ride was impossibly smooth, without a single bump or jostle. Her shoes appeared to be the same glass as the carriage, but they moved with her feet in an almost magical way, every step more comfortable than the last. 

Stepping out of the carriage with the help of two castle guards, she had to remove the back end of her dress from the floor of her coach, the layers of fabric cascading into place like a cloud as she let them fall. She nodded gratefully to the two men who escorted her from the high seat, who both blushed, and began a long walk up the steps of the castle. 

The stairs, covered in rich golden fabric, and embroidered along the edges with intertwining seals of the Agres house, were adorned with soldiers standing at attention with long spears twice their heights. Their backs remained rigid and stern, eyes trained forward without one glance in any direction. Every one of them looked identical, save for height, down to the buttons detailing their ceremonial coats. The crest of Agres was stamped across every chest, every pant was pressed and unmoving in the light wind, and every golden plume atop every gilden brimmed hat looked royal. 

Marinette smiled to each guard she passed, unable to keep the wide grin from her face and a soft blush from her cheeks. Nerves and excitement bubbled in her stomach. Footsteps tapped lightly on the ground as she walked, in time with the music that could be heard coming from the castle that was too far away. She wanted to be in the party already, enjoying the festivities and meeting new people, but the long entrance way was too grand for its own good. 

As she approached the top step, she turned to look back at the way she came. She hadn’t realized she had gone so high. The entire capitol stretched out before her, the glittering lights in the windows small reminders of the life that resided there. The river rushing to the side caught the light coming from the castle and the low-hanging moon and reflected it into her eyes. She squinted against the faint light with new found joy, and turned to climb the last steps. 

Huge double doors greeted her as she made it to the top, light flooding through along with music and life. The noise echoed through the empty hall that she found herself walking through, enjoying the spired columns on either side, leading up to the throne of the king that sat on a pedestal at the end of the foyer. Every inch of the room glittered in gold and vibrant green and purple. Candles cast light on colorful flowers that dotted stands between the columns. Golden curtains hung and draped from the ceilings, drooping to the middle of the room where they connected with candle-lit chandeliers, and then curving again toward the roof of immaculately painted scenery. 

Cherubs and angels, men and soldiers and beautiful ladies swirled around each other in a dance, surrounded by topiary, vines, and green life. Purples, pinks, oranges, and blues stood out from the deep background of rivers and forests, while hints of gilded paints made the entire mural shimmer with the candle light below. Musical instruments were held in the hands of most, and Marinette pretended the music she heard was coming from above. 

Marinette followed the music to one side of the pedestal, circling around the throne room and climbing a short set of stairs lined with more flowers, candelabras, and fabric more expensive than any she had ever seen. Her heart fluttered with excitement as the music grew louder, the chattering and laughter of the crowd growing in her ears as her heart soared. 

Another, smaller set of doors greeted her as she came to a room with more people than she could imagine. 

Several flights of grand staircases emptied into a grand ballroom fit for thousands of people, and she was sure that’s how many she saw. Crowds danced in the very center, while others milled around the edges, talking and giggling with each other while they ate from fine china and crystal. Mirth filled the air. Marinette could barely contain the smile that spread across her cheeks. 

“Miss,” she heard from beside her. She startled slightly and turned. A guard dressed in the same royal attire as every other on duty that night leaned close with words meant just for her. 

“Yes?” She stepped closer so she could hear him over the other noises in the grand room. 

He smiled kindly. “May I announce you?”

“Um… yes. I-” she stumbled with her words. She knew she couldn't give her real name. The fairy Tikki that came from her earrings told her that she was disguised. She couldn’t have her name announced and allow Madame to know she was there either. “Yes, I am Lady-” she examined her clothing. “Well, I guess I’m a ladybug, aren’t I?”

The guard nodded and turned from her, straightening his back to call into the crowd. “Announcing Lady Bug!” he shouted, though Marinette tried to stop his voice with a wave of her hand. 

She wanted to cover her face or run away. Lady Bug? What would she do with an identity like that. 

But she realized then that all eyes were on her. The entire room at once had turned to behold the lady in a red and white gown that stood at the top of the stairs. With nimble, gloved fingers, she untied the bow at her collar, handing her shawl over to the man who announced her with an appreciative nod. He smiled back at her. 

Nervously, Marinette addressed the crowd, walking toward them until she came to the edge of the stairs. Surely, she would fall and make a fool of herself, she thought. There was no way this was any good, having so many people staring at her. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her breathing hitched several times before she could draw in a complete breath. 

She touched the earrings that dangled by her neck and felt a wave of comfort wash over her. 

Reassured, she began to make her descent. She hadn't noticed that even the music had stopped upon her announcement, only to pick up as she began stepping down the stairs. Graceful, beautiful, pure music swelled from the orchestra to the side of the room. The thrum of the harp worked in time with her heartbeat, while the violins shuttered along with her breath. She stepped carefully, to make sure she wouldn't trip over her extravagant dress, and somehow made it to the bottom in one piece. 

All eyes remained on her, and she allowed herself to curtsy deeply in response. 

A tap to her shoulder alarmed her slightly, but she turned to find a kind looking gentleman standing, awaiting her to take his hand and dance. 

Just like that, Marinette was taken out of her dream like state and began to breathe again. Her first partner pulled her close to him and lead her through the crowd to where the dance floor was designated. The music picked up around her, and she began dancing for the first time in her life. 

“You certainly look lovely tonight,” the gentleman in her arms told her. A blush the color of his hair crept onto her cheeks. 

“Why thank you. It’s a… magical evening, isn’t it?” She smiled at the insinuation that only she would think of as funny. 

“With you in my arms, any night would be magical.” 

Giggles escaped her lips. “That’s quite forward of you.”

“Excuse me. Please. My name is Nathanael,” he said with an introductory nod of his head. “And you are?”

“Lady Bug,” she told him, unsure about sharing any other name with so many near her. In her experience, rumors spread like wildfire around the social class. However ridiculous the name might, she was sure there must have been others at the bal who had adopted pseudonyms. 

“Ladybug?” he asked. “As in the insect?”

“Yes, just the same.”

He glanced down to her dress. It was clear he didn’t believe that was her real name, but he, thankfully, went along with it. “Well you certainly like to dress the part, do you not?” 

“I personally think the dress is more of a… costume, if you will. A disguise. It’s all very mysterious, isn’t it? A ball like this, with so many people in masks and dressing up to be bigger than they actually are? It’s quite romantic.” Heat spread through her face, and she could feel the individual fingers that pressed into her waist and that clasped at her hand.

“It is.” His smile brought her back into her head. 

The hand that pressed firmly at the small of her back lead her in circles around the room, her skirt scraping just barely on the floor, and swirling around her every time she spun. She ebbed and flowed with the music, an overwhelming joy filling her heart. Her feet hovered lightly around the floor, stepping in time, and managing never to get caught under the toes of another. Her arms were gracefully light, holding the hand of every partner she danced with. 

A tap on Nathanael's shoulder introduced another man who wished to dance with her. He looked far older, with aged wrinkles about his eyes and mouth, and hair going just grey. But his smile was handsome, and she didn’t mind dancing with him. It would have been rude to decline the offer either way. Nathanael was reluctant to let her leave his arms. 

Men had almost made a line behind each other to dance with her, holding her close and asking for her name. They spoke softly along with the music, as if guided by the melody, and Marinette made light conversation with every one of them. Young and old wished to dance with her and hold her close. Some more forward than others, but she was rescued by the next man in line, who would take her away from someone who had a little too much wine. She didn’t mind being ushered around the room. Lords and knights were enamored with her, though she didn’t realize it. She would never admit to herself that there were so many people looking to be seen with her because she was beautiful. She thought them merely kind. 

Time sped by, and she danced with more people than she could remember. Slow waltzes, upbeat tangos that she had no idea how to perform. She managed through them. The clock ticked by as her partners did. 

An hour had passed before she caught her first break. 

Hurrying across the floor to escape more potential dance partners, she made her way to the place she was most excited to get to. Her stomach grumbled unhappily as it reminded her that it had gone without food for too long. 

The tables spread with food could have buckled under the weight of what laid atop them. Laden with gilt platters and plates of every size, stacked with beautiful decorative stands, all covered in more food than Marinette had ever seen, the buffet-like spread was a sight to behold. Flowers is intricately blown vases were interlaced with towers of fruits, cheeses, vegetables, and meats. Plates of every kind, from soups and salads to foreign lamb and fishes were separated by decorative herbs, sprouts of parsley and cilantro. 

Marinette practically drooled as she picked out slices of chicken, bread still warm from the oven, and different sauces, delicious looking skewered balls of some kind, and anything else that caught her eye. Her plate was full by the time she walked away from the tables, and a slice of watermelon almost fell from the edge of the golden china as she walked to find a table. 

She sat down alone near the middle of the tables, eating quietly and watching over the dancers with unqualified happiness. Every bite she took ebbed the growling in her stomach until she was no longer hungry, but her throat was parched from dancing for so long. 

Suddenly, a flurry of purple dress and red-brown hair dropped in the chair next to her, offering a drink. 

Marinette immediately recognized the girl as Alya, whom she had talked with so recently, despite the mask covering her face. 

“Thirsty?” she asked, handing over a crystalline flute of some sparkling liquid. 

“Very,” Marinette responded, taking the glass gratefully and enjoying the bubbling feeling as champagne passed her lips for the first time. A warmth spread in her stomach almost immediately, and her smile could only broaden. 

“How has your evening been?” Alya questioned, her gaze set straight for Marinette, stance firm. 

“Wonderful,” Marinette answered, truthfully. “I’m so excited to even be here, but the fact that everything has been so wonderful… I feel as though I’m in a dream.” 

“It’s quite the party, isn’t it?” 

Marinette smiled in answer as she took another sip from the glass. Her body swayed to the music and she felt herself relaxing. She had been on her feet for far too long. Sitting was a wonderfully relaxing activity.

“Where are you from?” Alya asked unexpectedly. 

Marinette’s eyebrows cinched. “What?” Alya knew where she lived. She had never been inside, of course, but there had been times when they needed to exchange some wares when Marinette could not get out of a specific chore, or when Alya had borrowed something that needed returning. Either way, the question was completely unjustified. 

“I’ve never seen you around before. I make it my business to know everyone in the capitol, but I’ve never heard of you. Bug is your last name, correct? Lady _Bug_?” She didn’t believe that to be her real name, but she didn’t press the matter. 

“Yes, that’s-”

“Where are the Bugs from, exactly? Have you traveled far to get here?”

Marinette hadn’t noticed the pad of paper that Alya had on her lap, scribbling information every once in awhile. She went to wipe a hand across her cheek when she felt cloth obscuring access to her skin. 

A mask. 

So that’s what Tikki had meant by hiding her identity. 

No longer confused about the girl’s lack of recognition, Marinette began answering questions. 

Where were the Bugs from? 

A small island to the east. Very remote, but very rich in jewels, especially rubies. She made sure to gesture to the beautiful jewels that adorned her ears, and the small diamonds that surrounded the central gem. 

What was her lineage?

Her father was a lord, and made his money traveling and trading with other merchants in foreign lands. This much was true. Her father had traveled a lot, usually not coming back for months at a time, picking up splendid items from across the lands, always bringing back something special and beautiful for her. She loved her father and his work, but she hated how far away he always had to go, and how long it took him to get back. Until, one day, he didn’t come back at all. 

How old was she?

Seventeen. Young, but old enough to travel on her own.

Was she here with anyone in her family?

Marinette glanced around the room. Technically, yes. But she didn’t want to introduce Alya to anyone who might get the wrong idea. What could she do if the reporter decided to snoop around Madame, Chloe and the cousins, asking questions about someone they knew nothing about. 

She shook her head. “No. I’m here alone. I traveled by myself.” 

“Interesting.” Alya scribbled another note onto the pad of paper in her lap. “Who made your dress?”

Another stumping question. “A… friend of mine. She’s very talented.” Warmth spread through the jewels at her ears and she kept the smile from her lips. 

“Mine as well. Those who can make dresses are very good friends to have.” They laughed together. Marinette touched the earrings by her cheeks and felt the warmth that came from them. She stood to go and fill her glass when a serving boy identified by golden pants, sleek black jacket and boots, and a green tie passed by with a bottle of champagne. He offered to pour for her and she held out the glass in red-covered hands. 

Now standing, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She turned back to Alya and sipped from the crystal glass in her fingers. She curtsied slightly to the girl and dismissed herself to wander around the castle. 

The main ballroom she was in was merely the beginning of the grand festivities. Two smaller ballrooms filled with lighter music served as spaces for conversation and smoking and drinking, and noblemen chatted together over fat cigars and pipes. She avoided those rooms in favor of the courtyard that branched away from the rooms. 

The courtyard was even more spectacular than the ballroom. Long poles jutted from the ground, wrapped with crystalline jewels that reflected the light from nearby candles, making them glow like they were their own light source. The poles supported gossamer fabric that draped like its own ceiling around the main paved area. The fabric shimmered gently. Tables set along the grassy portion surrounding the dance floor were covered in tiny tea candles and tiered flower arrangements. The same fabric that made a faux ceiling covering the floor shimmered on the tables, each set with golden place settings and crystal glasses. 

Marinette wandered down the steps and into the fray of people laughing and talking. A cool breeze added chill to the warm night. She wished she hadn’t given her shawl to the guard at the door. Suddenly, heat bloomed from her earrings and warmth fell down her shoulders, her entire body no longer feeling the chill of the evening air. 

Champagne flute still in hand, she skirted around the center of the festivities. It was much quieter here where the sound didn’t bounce from the walls and back to her ears. Crickets chirped beyond the line of light that encircled them. Marinette took another long sip of her drink. The bubbles tickled at her tongue. 

“Pardon, miss,” she heard a soft, husky voice call to her from behind. She turned to see a handsome gentleman dressed all in black, from head to toe, save for the golden bow tie that adorned his neck and glittered under his chin. Coattails fluttered behind him like he had just finished jogging to get to her, but they remained in perpetual wind-swept movement. Eyes covered in gorgeously intricate patterns of swirling black mask, his identity was foreign to her. The points of mask above his eyebrows were reminiscent of a cat. 

He bowed deeply. “May I have this dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck holfy fuck holy fuck hojlyfu holy fuck I love them so much


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette has some good times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who my favorite ship is.

“Pardon, miss,” she heard a soft, husky voice call to her from behind. She turned to see a handsome gentleman dressed all in black, from head to toe, save for the golden bow tie that adorned his neck and glittered under his chin. Coattails fluttered behind him like he had just finished jogging to get to her, but they remained in perpetual wind-swept movement. Eyes covered in gorgeously intricate patterns of swirling black mask, his identity was foreign to her. The points of mask above his eyebrows were reminiscent of a cat. 

“May I have this dance?”

A feeling of rightness crept into her belly. His hand was extended carefully toward her, not too forward, still only a suggestion. It felt safe, as if she could turn him away if she wanted to. 

But she didn't want to. 

She curtsied just as deeply as he did. “I would love to.” She took his hand and he lead them onto the dance floor, which had just cleared to prepare for the next dance. Marinette did not know this song, and was scared for not knowing the movements that would be required of her. “I must warn you,” she told her new partner, “I’m not very good.”

“Nonsense,” he said. He pulled her close in the middle of the floor, his hand placed gently on the small of her back, a reminder of his presence, but not insistent like so many others. “I’m sure you’re a natural.”

Somehow, he was correct. The movements of the dance flowed through her like a memory, and she was able to dance like she had been doing so all her life. Her right hand was clasped tightly, nervously in his left, where she felt a ring press into her fingers. The metal was warm from the heat of his hand. She found herself to be very comfortable in his company. She allowed him to swirl her around the dance floor with ease, her dress flaring up behind her as they moved. They paired together naturally, their movements complementing each other perfectly; each suggestion made by one carried out fully by the other. 

This lead to a playful moment involving a series of twirls and dips, Marinette ending the dance by dipping him so deeply his head nearly touched the ground. They giggled together with side-eyed glances of disapproval coming from the older patrons of the dance. Her partner, who had identified himself as Chat Noir, seemed to take obscure pleasure from their disapproval. 

Another dance began, and Marinette found herself rejecting the proposal of a dance from another partner. The man looked stricken, like he had felt entitled to her dance, and had almost said something before the music started up. Marinette was encircled yet again in the arms of her Chat and walked from the intruder to begin their dance. 

“You are very good,” she told him during their third song of the evening. 

“The same could be said for you.”

“Could it?” she giggled. Distracted slightly, she stumbled over one of his feet. The space between them disappeared as she slipped towards him, his arms wrapping defensively around her to keep from injury. Heat flooded into her face as she felt the firmness of his body beneath her, warm and sure, encasing her in a sense of security. She pulled away with a shy smile, flustered. “I suppose you spoke too soon.”

“So that wasn’t on purpose?” His eyes gained a wicked sparkle.

Lightly offended, she scoffed. “No. One doesn’t trip on purpose.”

Pressure at the small of her back drew her toward him, their frames pressed together once again. “I just assumed you couldn't keep your hands off of me.” 

The insinuation from anyone else would have been sinister and dirty. From him, a deep warmth spread in her belly and she felt lighter. Friendliness and safe flirting seemed natural, expected. Broad smiles were shared between them. “It seems that wherever my hands go, you insist on being in front of them.” 

“Well, you have made quite the _buzz_. I couldn't help but be interested.” 

“Was that a pun?”

“Was it, my Lady?” 

Another scoff broke the air between them. “You’re quite the comedian.” He glowed with pride at the compliment.

The song ended and they curtsied and bowed respectively, Chat leaning low to take her hand. His smiling lips brushed across her knuckles. It wouldn't have been felt if she hadn’t been wearing magical gloves, the kind that let you feel what the fabric felt like it was your own skin. Gradual warmth blossomed up her hand, through her arm, and settled in her cheeks. 

His eyes flicked up to meet with hers and a flash of recognition burned into her mind. A shock rocked through her fingertips where he touched. 

Reflexively, her arm jerked back into place, and she looked down to it. Her entire body was tingling. 

Before either could object, their were being led apart from each other by new partners, but it took far longer than it should have for their gazes to break. 

She danced with three more partners, to three beautiful songs, until she tired. Her heart was beating hard and elation seemed to have taken over her entire body. She was twirling her skirts as she walked through the hallways of the castle, looking here and there for a conversation to be had, or a hand to shake. Mostly, she kept to herself, smelling the exotic flowers that had been imported just for the event. Some were still but buds, but they would be magnificent by the last day of the ball. 

The next to ask her to dance was politely declined as she kept walking. She didn’t admit to him or to herself that she was looking for the prince. She had been looking all night, even while dancing with Chat. 

A deep-seated need to find him and talk to him had overtaken her. Something told her that he would be happy to see her. It was a tall hope that kept her scanning the crowd, searching the castle. 

In the main ballroom, Marinette watched as latecomers were introduced to the party. It was already quite late, but she assumed the ball would be going on for sometime still. Madame had said they wouldn't be home until two in the morning. She assumed that meant they would leave by one. She should leave earlier than that. Midnight maybe. 

The rattling chime of the clock tower reverberated overhead, much closer and more prominent than it was at home, but buffered by the noise already surrounding her. The chimes told her it was ten. How long did that mean she had been there? Three hours? 

It felt like ages. 

A woman in a grand orange dress and a fox mask was standing alone by the same pillar Marinette was. The girl glanced periodically over to her, interested but not willing to approach first. 

Marinette smiled over at the girl and took the few steps that separated them. 

“Hello,” Lady Bug offered her hand. The lady in orange looked down at her gloved fingers with something like distaste. The look faded as soon as it came, replaced by a deep, passionate, dazzling smile. 

“You’ve made quite the buzz, haven’t you?” 

Marinette hid her remembering smile inside a welcoming grin as an image of Chat passed through her mind. “Apparently I have. Who knew arriving fashionably late was such a spectacle?” They shared congenial grins. 

“Lila Rossi.”

“Interesting. Where are you from?”

“Oh, my father is the Duke of Italy.”

“A duke?”

“Yes, the Duke.”

“And Italy?” Lila nodded. “You’re quite a long way from home.”

“I have my reasons.” Before Marinette could ask what those were, she continued. “And you are?”

“I’m M-” she almost said her name, but a flash of almost painful heat spread from her ears. “Lady Bug.”

“Ah, you’re sticking with your pseudonym?”

“It’s safer that way.”

“Safer?” She perked up. If the costume she wore had ears, Marinette imagined them standing at attention. Lila leaned forward and took a sip from her goblet. “In what way?”

“I can’t have everyone knowing my identity.” Marinette was blind to the fascination that crept from the girl next to her. She was stuck examining the crowd, distracted by her pursuit of the prince. “You haven’t had the chance to meet the prince, have you?”

Lila’s eyebrows raised above the brim of her mask. “In fact, I was his first dance partner of the night.”

“Were you?” Marinette’s interest was piqued now. A strange surge of what felt like jealousy swept through her. “And have you seen him since then?”

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. He’s very popular. Look for the crowd.” Lila smiled to herself as Marinette took the suggestion seriously, glancing about her before realizing the crowd was quite literally _everywhere_. “I’m sure we’re going to be seeing each other again. Very soon.” The girl took a long draw from the drink in her hand. 

“What do you mean?”

Lila glanced innocently towards Lady Bug. “Oh. I thought you knew. It’s quite the news. Adrien and I are set to be married. Nobody knows yet. I doubt even he knows. But it is all but set in stone.” A satisfied grin marred her face. 

Marinette’s stomach dropped. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, you might not want to spread that too far. Some of the girls around here are wild for him. You might get more than you bargained for with his fan group.” Marinette wanted Lila to tell Chloe what she had told her. That grin would no longer be on her face. It would have been smacked off with clawed fingers. 

With a clearing of the throat, Marinette straightened he back and composed her thoughts. What was she to be upset about, really? What had she expected? Most certainly not _marriage_ to the prince. That would be absurd. Unheard of and inappropriate. Lila was a duchess, afterall. She would grown into her title and be a representative for her land, the Duchess of Italy, right hand to the King. She was rich, beautiful from what could be seen under the mask, and seemed intelligent. She would make a perfect match for a prince, who would one day rule Agres. Adrien and Lila. 

An interesting prospect. Proper. Acceptable. 

Then why did Marinette feel so badly about it?

“Excuse me, I must be going.” Lila sipped smugly at her drink while Marinette scurried back across the dance floor, her breathing heavier than it had any right to be. She had absolutely no right to be upset. 

She didn’t realize how hot and stuffy it was inside until she burst from the ballroom, the cold night air rushing into her lungs. Heels clicking as she walked hurriedly across the courtyard, she kept herself from looking too upset, and kept away from the prying eyes of the other guests of the castle. The night became cooler the farther from the people she got, and she could breathe easier. 

Her breath filled the air with soft grey puffs, and she distracted herself by playing with the momentary clouds and creating eddies in the air to make them swirl around her fingers. Bitterness crept from her and washed out with her breath. She watched it curl away and disappear in the smoke. 

She was completely unfamiliar with the feeling of jealousy. Sure, Chloe and Sabrina were pampered while she was left with virtually nothing, but she never really wanted for much. And she was kept busy most times, so worrying about herself wasn’t a pastime she ever had the chance to develop. It was easier to keep her head down and remain thoughtless. Still, every once in awhile, sparks of her personality were thrown at Madame or the sisters. 

When a demand was too ridiculous, she had been known to walk out of a room and start on another chore. Even while she stewed with what she refused to believe was discontent, she kept to herself, denying herself what everyone else had. Her dreams, her escapes were where she processed, where she screamed at the top of her lungs at the injustice she had faced. She never took those feelings into her waking hours, because they did her no good. 

But everything here was new. She didn’t know what she was doing, and it was fun at first, like a kid playing dress up in her mother’s heels. But now, everything was far too real. She was living a life she didn’t know. Didn’t deserve. She was so unused to the thoughts in her head. 

Images of Adrien popped into her mind, reminding her of the new ache she found herself with. Sweet smiles and gentle voice made her shoulders relax, and she didn’t feel the drip of a tear running down her face. 

Overwhelming. 

That’s all she could think. This night. These people. The thoughts that kept coming, pummeling her. 

“My Lady?”

She whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind her. She hadn’t noticed she had been clinging to herself, and she was grateful she had only let one tear slip down to her chin. Blinking rapidly, her gaze focused on the all-black figure appearing from the light of the party. His hair glowed like a halo around him, making him look like one of the stained glass angels she had grown up seeing in the cathedrals scattering the city. 

“Are you alright?” He crept forward, lithe and catlike. The thought made her giggle. He cocked his head to the side. She laughed harder. “My Lady?” Hesitantly, the sides of his lips tilted upward. 

“You were right to choose the cat for your costume. It suits you.” Behind him, glass clinked and merriment reigned. He looked out of place when he was not among others, though he seemed comfortable, like this was the life that suited him. Like he was good at handling people, was raised on it, but he much preferred to be alone with others. One on one. Intimate. “Why are you out here?”

“I saw you come from the ball. You seemed to be going somewhere rather quickly, and I thought you might need some help.” He was close to her suddenly, and it felt like he was closer than they were when dancing. His presence pressed into her, but not in a way she disliked. A gloved finger ran itself along the underside of her cheek, where a tear still clung, quivering. 

She saw the wetness on his finger and hurriedly wiped the rest of her face, unused to having makeup on and not caring about the effects it might have to wipe at it. It would have been absolutely ruined if not for Tikki’s magic keeping it in place. “Oh, I’m fine. Really.” 

He didn’t believe her. 

“Truly. I’m fine.” She took a step away from him. “You should go back to the party. Don’t let me keep you.” With one last step, the ground behind her gave way. She fell backwards sharply, all air rushing out of her lungs in anticipation of impact. She closed her eyes and braced for the ground coming up to meet her. 

But instead of the cold grasp of the dirt path, she felt herself being pulled to safety by strong hands. Their airs found their way to a dancing position. Her hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers entwined with his, her stomach pressed into his. Their eyes met. 

“Be careful,” he breathed. 

The music that came from the bustling crowd behind them began to encase them in silky fingers. They found themselves, inexplicably, swaying along with it, and Marinette found her head clearing. She breathed as deeply as she could with him so close, her lungs opening up to the cool air surrounding them. They forged their own private dance floor in the shadows of the hedges and trees off the courtyard. The lights didn’t reach them, but they kept each other’s stare anyway. 

Neither could explain the building heat that spread through them. 

“What’s your name?” he whispered, careful not to break the feeling between them. 

“I would ask the same of you.”

“I can’t tell you that.” 

“I can’t, either.” 

A pause. “Where are you from?”

“These are some impossible questions you’re posing,” she giggled. 

“Alright then. What’s your favorite color?”

“Pink,” she answered easily. She only ever saw the color on the rouge that Chloe kept sacredly to herself, and during the spring when a patch of pink flowers in her garden sprouted. Madame thought it was a horrendous color. It never matched her skin tone, and thus she wouldn't have anything to do with it in her house. She was much more fond of purple, the royal color. Marinette thought it must make her feel closer to her goal. Life at the palace. 

So when Madame had started tearing up the pink flowers that Marinette and her mother had planted when she was nothing but a child, Marinette had stole unsprouted seeds to plant in her garden, the one that she would keep for herself. She and her father would look to the pink flowers and remember the love that they lost. The color always reminded them of her. 

“Soft pink. Like a flower. And you?”

“Blue. Soft blue. Like the river. Like your eyes.” Marinette blinked up at him. She couldn’t stop the blush that crept onto her face, though she wanted to. He must have felt her shifting away, because he changed the subject. “Favorite food?”

“Apples. You?”

“Cookies.” Marinette made the note that she might have to bring him some of her cookies sometimes. He might appreciate them. “Favorite season?”

“Spring.”

“Spring.” 

Marinette scrunched her nose at the agreement. 

“Favorite dance?”

“I don’t know the names of any of them,” she confessed. Her feet moved of their own accord, like her shoes were moving them for her. In fact…

“You seem to be quite handy on the dance floor. Yet you don’t know the names of the dances?” 

She shrugged. “I never got a formal education. Dancing was a casual event when I grew up.” She left out the part about never learning these dances. The dancing she was familiar with was stepping on her father’s feet and letting him guide her around the room while she held on for dear life. Her mother would watch from the corner before she decided to cut in and taught Marinette some simple moves. Until she wasn’t able to cut in anymore. “What’s yours?” She shook away unwelcome thoughts. 

“Whatever one we’re doing right now.” 

She tossed her head back with a laugh and let him pull her in a wide circle. The song had picked up slightly, and their steps became lighter and more jagged. Eventually, they dropped the formal dancing altogether and began skipping around each other, spinning in circles and mussing up their clothing and hair. Marinette thought Tikki must be having a hard time of keeping her together, but she couldn’t find the time to mind. It felt too good to be free like this, watching Chat having just the same amount of fun. 

When the band began slowing down, they came back together, tilting back and forth dramatically, over exaggerating every movement. They took huge steps across the floor, Marinette’s heel getting stuck in dirt more than once. Their pried her foot up every time and continued in their dance. 

As the clock chimed the time, the song was slow, and they found themselves close together once again, softly tucked in the other’s arms, swaying to the trill of the violin. Marinette glanced up at the sound. 

“It’s eleven.”

“Yes.”

“It’s late.”

“Not really.”

She giggled. A realization dawned on her. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I didn’t get to dance with the prince.” She tried not to fall too heavily into her disappointment. 

A strange look overtook Chat. “Well. He’s a busy man. I’m sure he’ll get to you one of these nights.”

“I haven’t even seen him all night.” 

“You’ll get your chance. He’s probably out, kissing hands and shaking babies.”

“That’s quite the image.”

“Isn’t it?” She felt the chuckle through his chest, vibrating against her own. She pulled away. 

“I must go soon.” 

“So soon?”

She nodded. “It’s been very… nice. Thank you. I can’t thank you enough, really. You’ve been very kind to me.” She began to pull her hands away, but he kept her fingers in his hand. 

“May I ask two questions?”

She paused. Then nodded. 

“Why were you out here alone? Why… what upset you?”

Marinette bowed her head. “It was nothing. I was being foolish and childish. I shouldn’t have cared, honestly. She just…. I got some surprising news that doesn’t even really involve me and I got upset. That’s all.” She shrugged like it was nothing, but his eyes were intent. The conversation would not be over. Her only hope was getting as far from him as possible. “And the second question?”

He paused. She felt the heat of his ring increase in her hand, the metal almost burning her in its warmth, but she welcomed it. Her feet nudged her closer to him. 

“Chat?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t.”

“Ask. Don’t be shy. You haven’t been thus far.” Humor glinted in her eyes. 

He looked up at her with a look that she felt in her toes. Her heart melted into her shoes and all breath left in one woosh. 

“May I… can I kiss you?”

The breath that left her moments before came back ten fold, crushing into her. Could she admit to herself that she wanted to? She would never. Her glance went back to the party, where she knew Adrien would be, perhaps waiting for a dance partner. It was pathetic. There would be no way she could have a chance with him. Yet she held on to her hope, the one thing that had never left her in the years of servitude she owed her step mother. 

“I can’t,” she let out, and refused to see the disappointment flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but… There’s-”

“Someone else. I should have guessed.” 

“No, I-” she couldn't find her words. “Chat, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn't have asked. I-”

She cut him off as she stepped closer to him, a hand cupping the side of his face and pulling him into her. Her lips crashed into his cheek, immediately feeling the heat that crept there. She stayed for a beat and then broke away, her lips tingling, her pulse racing. “Thank you, Chat. For the dance.”

Then she hurried off to find her prince. 

By the time midnight struck, Marinette had not even caught a glimpse of him. She left reluctantly, the same disappointment she saw in Chat flooding her chest as she left in her glass and gold carriage. The lights of the ball shimmered all around her as she made her way home. 

At the front gates to the mansion, she told Tikki to detransform. The carriage fell away around her. The gossamer dress disintegrated into nothingness, her gloves and mask dissolving into the air and floating away on a gut of air. Her hair fell down to her shoulders and she felt the heaviness of her dirty dress encase her once again. 

A magical night, she told herself. Shuffling through memories, a smile blossomed across her face. Rose was asleep when she entered the kitchens, and she joined the girl on the floor in her own bed. The blankets were barely necessary in the warm night surrounded by aged stone, but they served to cover the embarrassing grin that she couldn't contain herself. 

The bells woke her an hour later, and she helped the women of the house dispatch their clothing and makeup, let their hair fall into curling tresses around their shoulders. 

Chloe complained loudly the entire time she was being undressed and washed that she hadn’t seen the prince, either, outside of initial introductions. What was so important that he didn’t make an appearance at his own ball? She fumed that she hadn’t gotten to dance with him. The ball was to make the people happy, right? Well she would be happy when she danced with the prince. 

Marinette nodded along absently to her rantings, pulling out the hundreds of pins that kept her hair in curls on her scalp. All but a few framing pieces had been placed in intricate fashion all along the back of her head. The golden color of her hair made it seem as if she wore the sun on her skull, and she was sure to look stunning in the candlelight of the ball. Marinette wished in spite of herself that she had seen her. 

Chloe had chosen a silken white shawl with draping golden tassels along the fringe. Her face was painted in her choice color: porcelain. Her lips were a nude color and she wore a rouge that made her entire face glow with sunlight. She was quite the sight. 

When she was released to retire for the night, Marinette made her way slowly down to the kitchens, where Juleka was whispering with Rose about the ball. 

“It was magnificent. We’ve never hosted a party even a fraction of the quality as the ball. The plates were encrusted in gold. They had crystal wine glasses, Rose! Imagine it!” 

Marinette smiled at the whispering of the girl. She had been so excited to go, and so disappointed that Rose couldn’t attend with her. The girls’ attention turned to her as she settled in for sleep. 

“Where were you all night, Marinette?”

“Huh?” she turned to face them, her arm acting as a pillow on the hard floor barely softened by rags and hay. 

“I didn’t see you all night.” Rose laid on her stomach still, the salve working less and less effectively as time went on and her body started to rely on itself. It was coming along nicely, but there was still signs of pain in her eyes. 

“I came and went,” Marinette lied smoothly. “You were mostly asleep when I came in. I cleaned and cooked and went for a walk.”

“Mmhm,” Juleka hummed. She didn’t quite believe it, but she wasn’t about to question where she was. Where else would she go, really?

Marinette turned to face the wall her bed was aligned with and let the quiet conversation of the mysterious Lady Bug who arrived late to the ball lull her to sleep as she played with her earrings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know how to write pure fluff and also I am a little evil, so I'm sorry for the little dose of angst that we got here. I'm not too sorry about it, because I love it, but still. It hurts so good.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette has questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost not about to finish this chapter, but I really wanted to give you guys something. As such, it's a little shorter than I wanted it to be, but I was super busy all this week and want to be in a coma. I am Very Tired, so this is unedited, and will likely remain so for the foreseeable future. I am going to sleep until I'm dead, thanks. Enjoy!

Marinette woke from what might have been the most restful sleep of her life. Her entire body felt lighter, healthier, and fuller than it ever had, and she felt as if energy was radiating from her. It didn’t even matter to her that she was woken by a chorus of bells, demanding her attention and action. 

Juleka and Rose were already up, Rose now able to stand and walk abou regularly without Juleka holding her chair out behind her with every step. Rose had made a spectacular recovery, healing more quickly than any of them thought possible. Marinette wanted to blame the salve Rose herself had made, but she knew better, feeling the tiny weight of a magical, healing fairy in her pocket at every moment. 

All were comforted by the presence of Tikki. The kwami exuded energy that was contagious, and everyone was in a better mood for it, smiles on faces, bounces in steps. 

In spare moments, Marinette allowed Tikki momentary freedom to catch her breath before rushing unceremoniously back into the pocket when they heard someone coming. Tikki reminded Marinette that it was unnecessary for her to be out and about so often. She was quite content staying within the confines of the smock’s pocket, but Marinette insisted. It didn’t seem healthy for a someone so powerful to be in such a small space, despite her size. So Marinette made it her solo mission to find spaces where no one would see the fairy flitting out and in a pocket. 

Tikki managed to help in some of the chores around the house as well, getting Marinette a spare cloth from her cleaning bucket that was just beyond her radius of reach, or reaching a high shelf with something that needed to be cleaned. The two got along splendidly, working alongside each other like they had been doing so for centuries. 

Madame called for Marinette, who rushed into the room, suppressing heaving breath from the quick jog. 

“Any troubles last night?”

“None, Madame. The house is running smoothly, as per usual.” Marinette kept her head low, refusing to speak too loudly, just in case. 

“Indeed. We will return later tonight. The girls need more time to make their impression upon the prince. Have tea ready for us when we get home.”

No time was offered, so Marinette had to guess at what time they would be home. Three? Four in the morning? It could not be put past Madame to keep the girls out as late as possible to keep them in the line of sight of the prince, or any other rich man that caught their eye. “Yes, Ma’am,” was all she gave in return. 

Madame waved her hand in dismissal, and Marinette spent the rest of the morning getting breakfast ready for the masses. It was mostly upon Rose in their old house to cook the meals, but Juleka would not allow the girl to be up for such long lengths of time, so she assigned Marinette to help in the process while Juleka handled the women of the house. A clever idea, keeping Marinette out of the reach of the cousins. 

She was guided through the kitchen instead, unable to find time to allow Tikki some air. Instead, she snuck the fairy outside, finding a quiet corner where she would be safe while Marinette cooked. As soon as the fairy was off of her person, she felt the absence. She still wore the earrings, cleverly hidden with her hair from prying, jealous, accusatory eyes, but the feeling of having Tikki so close was a comfort, almost a necessity. 

Making due without the comfort, Marinette and Rose made quick work of breakfast, until they were assigned to dress the girls and get them ready for the ball. 

They were expected to be even more perfect tonight. Madame assumed that everyone would put their best foot forward for the first night, then their efforts would decline, and their facade would suffer for it. So Madame made the plan to make the girls look even more beautiful for the second night, to stand out amongst the crowd who slipped in their fashions. 

As such, they would have to spend even more time at the salon, their hair being tied and styled and curled into utter perfection, their faces to be scrutinized at every level. Madame must have the most beautiful daughters, with the smallest waists, and the reddest lips. 

They were to be perfect. 

Chloe had Marinette tie her together, the corset must be even smaller and more cinched than the night before. Chloe’s skin looked more pale than usual. It had shifted from a clear porcelain to a ghostly white. She looked sick, but Marinette was not about to comment on it. As Marinete pulled at the corset, Chloe’s stomach rumbled loudly. 

“Would you like something to eat, Chloe?” Marinette asked quietly as she tied the heavy-duty cords together in the back. 

“Of course not,” Chloe snapped over her shoulder with such malice that Marinette jumped back. Tikki offered a consoling warmth that ran through her body. “Mother has me on a strict diet. I will not be eating for the next three hours, so don’t tempt me with food. I must be perfect for the prince.”

Chloe turned to the mirror to her side and examined her face, poking and prodding at her eyebrows, her lips, and her cheeks. She picked at non-existent blemishes, and finally pinched her cheeks harshly to bring color to the pale skin. Blood rushed to the pain and quickly faded. She pinched again, to no avail. 

Concern drifted through Marinette. How long had she been starving herself? Since the announcement of the ball, most likely. Perhaps she had been restricted from food all her life. Chloe had always been a small girl, her waist remaining trim even through the cold months, where most people were forced to add a couple of pounds to fend off the cold. But she never seemed to gain any weight. 

The diet must have become more intense recently, as Marinette had never seen Chloe in such a state of disarray. Her hair lost some of its suppleness, her cheeks were thinning out as she did. 

Marinette watched Chloe inspecting herself in the mirror, a look of distaste on her face as she leaned ever closer. 

“What are you looking at?” Chloe snapped again. 

Marinette turned back to her work, keeping her head down defensively. How could Madame be doing this to her daughter? Chloe was beautiful. She was tiny and blonde and proper, if spoiled and often rash. She was always given the best, and she reflected that. Clothes, supplements, food, everything was provided to her in the greatest quantity and best quality that could be provided by anyone. No expense was spared for the favorite daughter. 

Finally tying the corset in place, Marinette stepped back and checked out her work. 

Chloe looked at herself in the mirror. 

“Tighter.”

“What?”

Chloe watched Marinette in the mirror. “You heard me. Tighter.”

“Chloe, it won’t go any tighter. The cords will snap.” They were strained to the breaking point already. There was no more flesh they could squeeze. At this point, the garment was bending her bones in on one another. Her ribcage was being suffocated. 

“What are you suggesting?” Eyes narrowed. 

“Nothing at all. You look beautiful. You don’t need the corset to be tighter. It will only hurt you.”

A flick of the hand flipped Chloe’s hair across her shoulder. Hands found her waist in her favorite intimidating pose, and she began to stare Marinette down. “Beauty is pain. If it doesn’t hurt, you aren’t trying hard enough.”

There was nothing to be gained by arguing. Marinette untied the corset and began cinching it tighter, while trying to allow Chloe space to breathe. It was a thin line to walk, and Chloe gasped for breath more often than not. 

When it was at its tightest, Chloe gasped. “There. Tie it off.”

Marinette did as she was told and stood back, allowing Chloe her space. She tipped from side to side, and Marinette prepared herself to catch her if she fainted, but she remained upright. 

“Good,” Chloe conceded. Marinette was dismissed, bowing out of the room. 

Tikki flew from her pocket without waiting for Marinette to allow her out. “You must help her, Marinette.” They spoke in hushed voices. 

“How? Chloe has never taken my advice.”

The tiny kwami shook her head. “Not as Marinette. You have to help her as Lady Bug. She won’t listen to anyone else.”

“How do you know that she’ll listen to me?” She shook her head. “Her?” 

“Because you know her. And I know you, Marinette. You’ll help her because you care about her, and she needs it.” The two shared a meaningful glance before Tikki heard someone coming down the same stairs they were on. Juleka rushed down the narrow corridor of servants’ stairs right as the fairy made it into the pocket of the smock, carrying a tray of tea. 

“Are you alright?” 

“The tea wasn’t hot enough,” Juleka called back as she continued down the stairs as fast as she could. Marinette hurried along after her, helping with the next crisis. 

By the time all the girls were dressed and ready to go, the sun was at its apex, and Madame was not pleased. They had been expected to leave over an hour ago, and now the girl’s looks would suffer. They would have to be late to the ball in order to make a proper appearance, but Madame was not fond of the idea of arriving late, making an entrance like that Bug woman who arrived late in the evening the night before. 

A shot of adrenaline and panic shot through Marinette when she heard this. Hope in the back of her mind was expecting that Madame had not seen her, well, Lady Bug. Maybe the girls and her stepmother had missed the grande, late entrance of the woman who made a stir throughout the castle. 

If there was one specialty of Madame, it was finding the juiciest piece of gossip in the crowd. She was likely the first to hear that the prince was to be engaged, and half of her stress came from the time constraints. How hard would it be to make an impression on the prince large enough to bare marriage?

Madame fluttered around her girls, hair tied up in loose knots that took the serving women far too long, makeup situated in just a large enough an amount to be appropriate for leaving the house. They were not the kind of people to be seen outside without being completely set. This day was already a travesty in Madame’s eyes. 

Juleka helped the women into the over-large carriage and started out, waving goodbye to Rose, who stood by the door of the kitchens, both glancing to each other fondly as she left. Marinette stood between the girls and off to the side, watching the exchange. 

As the carriage disappeared down the lane, Marinette walked back into the kitchens, passing by Rose, who leaned against the door frame. 

“What’re you looking at?” Marinette asked knowingly. 

Rose shook from her stupor with a ferocious blush. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice meek. 

“Oh, nothing.”

Marinette started going about the work needed around the house, scrubbing the floors of the grand entrance, sweeping all the floors, changing sheets, and dusting every shelf that existed in the house, along with everything on the shelves. Rose remained in the kitchens, hunkered over the basin of water they used for laundry, while a pot of soup boiled behind her. She managed to make the best lunches and dinners for them, taking the ingredients that Marinette simply threw in together and coaxing out meals that reminded them of their childhoods. 

Tikki took the extent of their privacy to come out from her hiding place, finding a place to sit and watch the work until she could manage to help with something. Marinette was in Madame’s room, dusting, folding, and cleaning anywhere that needed it. 

“Are you prepared to go tonight?”

“Go where?” Marinette asked absently, picking up the items that littered Madame’s vanity and wiping the surface clean underneath them. She made sure to set them back in the exact place they had been before, knowing how particular Madame was about the placement of her things. 

“To the ball, of course.”

The vile of perfume slipped from Marinette's hand and onto the lush carpet on the floor. Scrambling to pick it up, she made sure that none of it had spilled, or worse, been broken. It seemed intact, however, and she set it carefully back onto the vanity where she found it. “What do you mean? I’m not going to the ball again.” It was said as a question. 

Tikki flew over to where Marinette was, sitting on a plush puff that Madame used for her powders. “Of course you are. That’s why I’m here. You must be at the ball.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“All will be revealed in time,” the kwami answered cryptically, though with sympathy in her eyes. “Yours is not an easy task, Marinette, but I’m sure you are up to handling it.” 

“What is my task?” 

Tikki averted her gaze, almost guiltily. “There are some things that I cannot tell you. And I’m sorry for it. But if I tell you what I know, you may be swayed in your decision making, and that could be very dangerous, indeed. I am here to make sure you do what you were meant to.”

“Meant to?”

“Yes.”

“What am I meant to do?”

Tinkling laughter left Tikki’s mouth. “Even I don’t know that.” Marinette looked down to her work, confused and lost. She resigned herself to cleaning, finishing on the vanity and walking across the room to the bed, where she stripped the sheets and began taking them down to Rose for a washing. 

During the long walk down the stairs, Marinette thought of what it might be that she was meant to do. She’s supposed to go to the ball, that was for sure, but once she was there, she was lost. Was she meant to do something? Meet someone? What task was she meant to perform? Possibilities jumbled through her brain. 

Rose accepted the new project Marinette offered and asked her to hang the wet sheets and clothes that were sitting by her. The cuts on her back were not healing as rapidly now, and she was sore from movement. Marinette went to grab a glass of water for Rose, then went to hang the wet items outside, where the waning sun would hopefully warm them to dryness. 

“Tikki?” Marinette asked when they were far enough away from Rose so that she wouldn't hear the conversation. 

“Yes?”

“Have you been healing Rose? And me?” Marinette looked down to the slight scars that still marred her hands. They were no longer the scary red, angry cuts that they had been, but they still hurt on occasion. 

“I have. It’s part of my magic.”

“What do you do, exactly?” She began stringing up the wet cloth. 

“I am the god of creation. I make things appear, if for a short time, and am able to supplement the natural creation of all things. Things that grow, such as the skin of your hands, and Rose’s back, or the flower that is her namesake.” Tikki balanced on the thin line of wire where the clothes hung.

“You can make a flower grow?” A mystical quality came into her eyes and the fairy nodded. “That’s amazing.”

If something so red could blush, that’s what Tikki did. “Thank you. But it does take quite a bit of energy. I have done what I can to heal you and Rose, but there is only so much I can do before I become ineffective or tired. I may be a god, but I am not omniscient.”

Marinette thought for a long moment. “If you need to save your energy, why make my dress so intricate? Surely, you could focus on other things.” She didn’t want to be too suggestive, but it was hard to think of anything other than healing the rift of guilt that played in her stomach whenever she thought of the scars on Rose’s back. New and old. It was her fault, after all, for the new additions she would have when she left this place. The shoes on her feet were a constant reminder of the price someone else had to pay, and she would do anything to repay that debt. “I’m sure Rose would appreciate any help you could give her.”

The shake of the head she got was disheartening. “I would love to help her, Marinette, but I have to focus my energies elsewhere. And she is already doing splendidly well. Those injuries should have kept her bedridden for a week or more, at least. It’s only been several days and she is already back to work. I promise, if she needed any more assistance in her healing, I would give it. But as it stands, I have already given too much, and we can’t have her being suspicious.”

“Suspicious of a tiny, floating red god who has healing magic and can create ball gowns out of thin air?”

“Among other things, yes.” 

The beginnings of a smile played at the end of Marinette’s lips. She heaved out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t questions you.”

“It’s only fair. I’ve thrust a lot upon you, and I can’t say it’s all been easy.” 

As the work outside was done, the pair entered the kitchens again, handing Rose’s now-empty basket back to her so she could continue her work. Marinette went back up to Madame’s room to finish the cleaning there in silence. The curtains had been pushed open and the windows were flung open, letting in the slight breeze of the late spring afternoon. 

A sudden gust of wind knocked over something on the table beside the king-sized bed. Marinette rushed over to the table and righted the trinket, a gilded frame with a small portrait of Marinette’s father. 

The black-and-white photo had been incredibly expensive to sit for, and the photo came out slightly blurry, but Marinette would recognize the subject of the photo anywhere. His stern face did not fit to his personality, but he found through experimentation that sitting for so long with a smile was tiring to the cheeks. His hair was slightly messy, as always, sticking up in the back in a cow lick he was never able to settle down. His eyes shone even in the colorless picture, as if someone had replaced them with jewels and nestled the diamonds into the picture frame. 

He wore his best for the picture, a suit that he only donned for special occasions. Weddings, anniversaries, balls, and Marinette’s birthday. She had always complained that he should save the suit for a more special time, but he reminded her that her birthday was the most sacred day of the year, and should be celebrated as such. 

Tears prickled her eyes. 

It had been so long since she had seen the likeness of her father, and she almost forgot what he looked like. She almost forgot how much she missed him. 

Tikki watched from the bed, her weight barely making an indent in the pillows. 

“Why did you choose me?” Her voice was soft and rough. 

“Because you are strong. And selfless, and kind. Marinette, I chose you, like I picked all of my Chosen before you, because you are special.” She closed the distance between them, her large eyes filled with care and concern. “You may not realize it, but you mustn’t question it. You _are_ special, Marinette.”

A long, shaking breath left her, and she wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Carefully, so as not to disturb the photo, she placed the frame back onto Madame’s night stand and traced a longing finger down the edge of the frame. What she wouldn’t give to have him back. 

“Tikki. Can you heal the dead?” Hope rushed through her at the thought, however fleeting. There was a slim chance, barely one at all. But what would she do if she didn’t try to get him back?

Silence drew out between them, a heaviness that Marinette was not familiar with. When they turned to each other, something like worry, or fear, stilled Tikki’s movement, filling her eyes. 

“Tikki?”

“No, Marinette. I’m afraid I can’t bring people back. No one can.” 

New heaviness weighed her down. “I thought not.” She resigned herself to her chores for the rest of the day, keeping her head down, mind full of thoughts that she was afraid she couldn't control. She fended most of them off, but they were thick, and they stayed lodged in her head, fighting for dominance. 

Usually, her work was enough to keep them at bay, battened down and solidly put away, but they flooded over. She kept at her chores until the sun began to dip in the sky. The days were getting longer, and it was already six by the time it was half way down the sky. 

“Are you ready?” Tikki asked, when they had snuck away to the grotto, which Marinette now felt safe and secure in. It was a beautiful space, and the natural sounds cleared her head more effectively than manual labor. She took a deep breath and nodded. 

“I have something special for you tonight,” Tikki added. “Say the words.”

“Tikki, spots on.” 

Light flooded the grotto, sparkling across the water, filling the contained space surrounded by willow branches, and Marinette felt the warmth of the dress spread across her skin. 

Starting from the earrings where Tikki disappeared into, the mask closed around her face, red lace dotted with glimmering black jewels the size of her thumbnail. Tendrils of stringy swirls plastered themselves onto her cheeks, tracing themselves round her eyes, up her forehead, down her cheekbones, covering her eyebrows. She felt more than saw her eyelashes grow slightly longer, and tiny jewels flecked through them, adding a shimmering light all around her gaze. 

Lips painted a vibrant red the exact color as her mask, skin clear and glowing as it had never been, a relaxed yet confident air about her, she had never been more beautiful. 

Marinette looked down at the dress that Tikki had thoughtfully crafted for her that night, and tried to suppress the small gasp that refused to be held within her lips. A more captivating material had never been seen. It was as if the light of a million candles had been trapped within the folds of the fabric, glittering and emitting their own light. White, yet golden when it caught the faint light of the dying day, the skirt blended into a bodice that hugged every curve, fading into a red lace that felt of a summer’s breeze. 

The lace cut a line beneath her collarbones, where a similar line of lace, but in black, made a trim that stood stark against her skin. The sleeves did not reach all the way up to her shoulders, but the hem along her chest continued out to her arms, leaving her shoulders bare. Her arms were covered till just past her elbows, red lace trimmed in black. 

There was something she felt attached to her arms, leading behind her. She looked and found there was a sheen of fabric cascading from the top hem of her bodice, cutting down into a deep V in her back, baring her spine, and flowing to the ground in a sea of red. The cape looked to be lush, expensive, and heavy, but when she took a step, she barely felt the drag. 

“Tikki,” she whispered, beside herself. “I have wings.” 

She giggled at the thought, but twirled nonetheless, allowing the wing-like cape to flutter around her, swirling up with the momentum in a volley of sweet laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little angst, as always. But she gets better. She always will. That's a promise.
> 
> Here's a quick doodle of the dress for tonight's ball. I'll try to update costumes and all that as frequently as possible so y'all have some decent references.   
> http://rescue-satellite.tumblr.com/post/156561368513/quick-doodle-for-marinettes-dress-for-the-second


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien is confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG Double Update! This never happens!

Adrien paced about the chamber, waiting for his cue that he was being announced. His father was most likely charming the crowd with a wit they wouldn't expect - he was quite impressive when he wanted to be - and he was told to stay in the small antechamber until someone came for him. He could hear the strong voice of his father, and the polite laughter and clapping that followed every pause. The muffled sound of the crowd only made him more nervous. 

He wanted to be out there, looking for her. 

They had danced for hours the night before, and he wanted to dance with her again, to see her outside of his mask. Maybe he would tell her who he was, and that they had danced the night before as well. The thought was forcefully removed from his head as he heard Plagg’s nagging voice telling him to keep his identity hidden from everyone, even the enchanting woman who had stolen his heart from the moment he laid eyes on her. 

With a great huff, he settled back into a plush chair that sat in the corner of the room, leaning back to massage the ache in his temples. 

As soon as he sat, the chamber door opened and a serving hand came to tell him it was time to address the crowd. Adrien stood and hurried towards the door, ready to make his escape from the cramped room. 

That night’s crowd might have been larger than the night before. It would make sense, as that Saturday held more time for people to get ready. Some didn’t have work, others may have taken the day off. Special guests from foreign lands would have just rejuvenated from their long journey, or might have just arrived. 

He stood before them proudly, overwhelmed by the amount of people he saw, flooding out the door, prepared to eat and dance and drink and laugh. Spirits lifted, he smiled to his subjects and began a practiced speech, virtually identical to that which he gave the night before. He hoped they wouldn’t mind, but he knew they most likely wouldn't. They weren’t there to listen to him ramble on. 

As he finished, the restless crowd gave him a polite round of applause and two pairs of ceremonial guards opened the great double doors on either side of the throne’s pedestal. The gilded frames emptied into room after ballroom of lavishly decorated, party-ready space, where the majority of the people would spend their nights chatting with strangers in fun masks and drinking far too much wine. 

Adrien noticed offhandedly that there were more faces in this crowd that were obscured by the presence of a mask than there had been the night before. Perhaps the influence of Lady Bug, he thought. 

As the crowds shuffled through the doors to begin the merriment, and the orchestra’s music began to waft down the halls, Adrien scanned the crowd for a raven-haired, red-clad woman who resembled a bug. 

It was strange that he had become so quickly infatuated with someone who took after an insect. 

The king and the prince stayed in their place atop the pedestal, gazing down among the crowd of people who carpeted their great hall. Adrien kept a contented smile about his face, his father a disapproving grimace. 

When the majority of their subjects had filed out of the great hall, very few staying behind in small clumps, Gabriel turned to his son. 

“You will dance with Ms. Rossi again tonight. Do try to make a better impression.”

Those were the only words he was afforded before the king swept away on a breeze. There was no conversation. It was a demand without compromise, and Adrien was to adhere to it strictly. 

He was not sure how long he would have to dance with Lila. Maybe two or three songs, enough to make an impression on his father, but his attentions, he knew, would be drawn elsewhere. 

Thoughts of Lady Bug drifted through his mind, cascading thoughts of what he might speak with her about, how she would feel in his arms, as if he didn’t already know. But it would be a different feeling entirely when he could be Adrien, not Chat Noir. Although the suit afforded him some sort of freedom from attention and duty, Adrien wanted to make an impression on her on his own, without the false bravado he felt in the suit. 

He blamed Plagg for the cocky stride in his step. 

After his father left, Adrien was alone to search out among the now empty hall. It didn’t surprise him that he wasn’t able to find his Lady, but he still felt disappointment. He shuffled towards where the crowds would be gathered to make his appearances. 

The beginning of the ball was quite slow, with many people sitting to have a short meal before falling into their dancing and chatting. In some cases, the patrons simply needed some free-flowing alcohol before their inhibitions were dampened enough to ask the beautiful person they had been eyeing all night to dance. 

Adrien decided it would be a good idea to try the same technique himself. His hands were shaking with anticipation he could barely register. He was poured a goblet of wine and began sipping experimentally. Warmth spread through his body as he began to gulp down larger sips. Finishing his first glass, he set the goblet aside and began to survey the crowd for conversation. 

Laughter surrounded him, permeating the music of the orchestra. 

A light tap on his shoulder made him reel around. He was far more tense than he thought he was. 

Lila stood before him with a slight smile on her face, looking up at him through long eye lashes. “Hello, Adrien,” she almost whispered with a deep curtsy. There was a blush just barely detectable beneath her orange mask. Her hair was up in curling tendrils tonight, her plentiful hair towering above the crown of her head. A few strands come down to frame her face, one curl hitting her lip.

“Lila,” he said with a shallow bow. He wished he could feel more of a kinship with her. She seemed to be a nice girl, and she was just doing what her parents wanted her to do. It wouldn't be their faults if they didn’t get along. He knew his father would expect them to get married if he didn’t find someone else first, and Adrien felt a growing urgency as the night went on to dance and bond with Lady Bug. 

With one last glance towards the door, he made himself reach a hand out to her for a dance. Her blush became deeper, as if she didn’t expect him to offer it, and she came into his arms easily. 

As soon as they were on the dance floor, like the night before, she became a completely different person. She looked directly into his eyes without a hint of redness about her cheeks. Hazel eyes pierced into his own, glowing behind the bright mask. Her red lips looked dangerous and enticing, though he dare not think so. There was still something off limits about someone who his father had picked for him. He wished he didn’t think so. 

“You look very handsome tonight,” she told him. 

He was wearing the same outfit as the night before, outside of his undergarments, so he didn’t think it was true, but he thanked her anyway. “You look lovely as well.” 

It wasn’t a lie. She was beautiful, and she felt confident and sure. She had never displayed any negative acts around him, never spoke poorly of another. She could be nice, if he reached further into their relationship, but something held him back. 

“Thank you. I must say, I missed dancing with you. I was sure we would be together more last night, but you disappeared after our first dance.”

Without meaning to, he added more distance between them. Being Chat wasn’t a topic he was willing to divulge, and it felt as if she was prying. Which was ridiculous, of course. What could she possibly know? 

“Yes, I had… obligations.”

Her nod was barely perceptible, as she continued to look into his eyes, like she was looking for a different answer there. “It is to be expected, as the prince. You must keep very busy.”

“I do. Unfortunately.” They let themselves dance for a while longer, without speaking. Adrien was lost in thought. “I wish I could spend more time with my subjects, but my father expects me to do more… princely duties. It goes against my reasoning for the ball in all aspects, but I can’t do much to change that. I’m not king yet.”

“But you will be.,” she reminded him. Her body pressed up against his a little more, possessively. “Very soon.” 

A soft shiver ran through him, but he ignored it. The reminder was not a welcome one. Of course he wanted to do right by his people, his kingdom. But the idea of being king, and having the weight of such an expansive area on his shoulders - so many people, so many lives - it was intimidating. He wanted to do well by them, but he knew he wasn’t prepared. He might never be. 

“Yes. Soon.” He lost himself in thought again, allowing a conversation to go on between them while he offered the bare minimum. It would be impossible for him to remember exactly what they were talking about, but she didn’t mind his absence, apparently. She continued to talk with him, contented to be in such close proximity. 

A hush of voices ran through the crowd, and Adrien’s interest became piqued. They danced in the main ballroom, with curving staircases running back up towards the throne room. The bulk of the people in the ballroom turned to look up. Gilt fabric and marble staircase flowed to show Lady Bug, standing in a beautiful red and white gown at the top of the grand staircase. 

She looked absolutely stunning, as she had the night before. Her hair curled up in a similar fashion to Lila’s but her fringe framed her face more delicately, touching the top of a mask that melted into her face, as if painted on. Blue eyes sparkled in the candle light, looked down among the crowds who were returning her gaze.

Beginning down the steps, the steward behind her announced her name, the only noise in the hall besides the orchestra, who insisted on playing. 

Adrien felt himself drifting from Lila as his Lady glided down the steps. Her dress emitted its own faint light, surrounding her in a soft halo that made her look ethereal and more beautiful than any mortal should have. Her shoulders were exposed as her dress cut across her chest and upper arms, and it made her neck look long, the earrings dangling at her cheeks adding a jeweled accentuation to the curved area. 

It didn’t register to him, but the crowd separated in front of him, allowing him easier access to the Lady. His eyes were only for her as he approached. 

They met as she stepped down to the floor, now equal with the rest of the room. Still, people stared, including Adrien. 

Blue and green eyes met, both chests hitched in their breathing. The music lilted behind them, allowing them a romantic soundtrack that urged them towards each other. 

Adrien stepped forwards first, closing the short distance between them and bowing low and slow. When he glanced back up to her, she was curtsying just as low as he was, her head tilted down. She looked up through jeweled eyelashes, glittering in the light of the ballroom, and smiled widely. 

They stood and took slow steps towards each other, the music swelling as they walked. 

His hand took her gloved fingers and carefully pulled her closer to him. She looked up towards him, their eyes meeting with a flush to both of their cheeks. 

“Prince Adrien,” she breathed. 

It took his breath from his chest to hear her saying his name. “Lady Bug. May I have this dance?”

Her smile grew, showing white teeth and dazzling dimples. “I would be honored.”

The crowd parted for them to enter the dance floor, but neither noticed. They were enamored with each other immediately, and when they began to dance, they pressed as close to each other as possible while remaining friendly. The need for speaking didn’t exist. It felt as if they already knew each other, had spent many lives together. There were no secrets between them. No space. 

Adrien’s hand at the small of her back felt like fire, and heat spread through his entire body. He could feel the eyes around the room glued to them, oppressive, but barely there. His attention was all for her, in the way the smile never slipped from her mouth. The way her hair fluttered with her dress as they spun in their dance. The way her cape billowed out behind her like wings when she twirled. The way her eyes never left his, and his never left hers.

The rest of the world didn’t exist. 

Until Adrien made the mistake of looking up, breaking their connection, and he saw his father’s disapproving glare from across the ballroom. A pit formed in his stomach. 

Adrien knew he technically was supposed to be finding a bride, a queen, and someone to rule by his side until their dying day. But his father had other plans, and he was the king. There was little room for missteps, and dancing with someone who wasn’t the king’s chosen was a huge one. Fire built in Adrien and he gripped Lady Bug’s hand tighter, pulling her closer.

The king left him with one more disappointed glare before he melted into the crowd. 

“Are you alright?” he heard Lady Bug say to him. He looked down at her, and the fire in his stomach was quelled, replaced with the flickering heat of her closeness. 

“I’m perfect,” he breathed, and it was almost true. But as he had broken himself from their daze, he now felt the eyes of the room on him. 

Everyone was staring. It was no hyperbole. Every eye in the room was focused on them. 

Some held a romantic pleasantry in their eyes, some a fierce jealousy, others simple disappointment or plain curiosity. Still, the weight of their eyes made Adrien feel heavy and imposed upon. 

He squeezed her hand once and parted slightly. “Come with me,” he whispered to her, and her smile blossomed and brightened. 

They fled across the ballroom, Lady Bug trailing closely behind, their hands interlocked protectively. Adrien made his way through the thick crowd, trying to find a place that was relatively more private, knowing it would be almost impossible. He settled for making his way outside, sitting in the relative quiet darkness along the edge of the dance floor. The light of the candelabras and lanterns didn’t reach them there. 

Adrien turned to find Lady Bug breathless and giggling. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “There were too many eyes.”

“I could feel them. Thank you for saving me,” she laughed. He chuckled along with her, his chest loosening. 

“My pleasure.” The music of the outside orchestra comforted them into a lull of the dance. “I’ve been wanting to dance with you for such a long time. The idea of being intruded upon didn’t feel right.”

“I couldn't agree more. It’s a pleasure to finally be able to meet with you.” Her red grin with dizzying. 

They pulled each other closer and began spinning, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. Talk was light, almost absent as they danced, resigned to staring into each other's eyes and falling into a blissful trance. Adrien’s fingertips buzzed with every contact point they made with her body. His belly rumbled every time she smiled at him, which was almost constantly. 

They were utterly lost in each other. 

Time came and went, the clock chiming rhythmically behind them. When the clock chimed out ten tolls, another noise joined them. 

“Adrien.” 

His father’s voice pierced the night like a clap of lightning, though it was as quiet as a whisper. Adrien snapped around to face the noise, and saw his father, Lila, and her father standing before him. A curse escaped his lips, and his father ushered him over. Lady Bug gripped his hand protectively, and he turned back to her. 

“I’ll just be a moment. Wait for me, I’ll be right back.” 

She nodded. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. My father just likes to get his way.” A bitter grimace passed his lips, but it didn’t last long. He turned and walked over to the two imposing men, not seeing Lila passing by him to move towards Lady Bug. “Father. Monsieur Rossi.” He bowed his head respectfully.

“We must speak,” his father told him. 

“What about?” 

“Your marital status.” 

Adrien just kept a groan from passing his lips. “Father. We made an agreement. Until my birthday, no decisions can be made about my wife and queen. Pushing this matter solves nothing.”

“Adrien,” his father warned, his eyes holding some measure of worry. “Terms have changed.”

“What do you mean?”

Monsieur Rossi spoke up. “An agreement has been made amongst my advisory board. The kingdom of Agres has been prosperous for a long time, and we wish to cash in on our partnership. We offer an agreement. To marry our two houses, or to dissolve our negotiations indefinitely and go our separate ways.”

“You mean an ultimatum,” Adrien spat, barely registering the hostility in his voice. 

“If you wish to see it that way, yes. Our kingdoms are both prosperous, but our relations have been tense for a long while. Bandits on our travel routes, trade tariffs exceeding profitable margins,” Adrien shot a look to his father, who enjoyed increasing taxes without question, “and other factors that have made our partnership… strained.” 

“And? How would a marriage between your kingdom and ours do anything to prevent more tension? It seems we need to go about more diplomatic measures to ensure both our lands benefit.” 

“You are naive, young prince.” An angry shiver ran through Adrien. 

He had been directing this kingdom to safety and out of the dangerous realms of war and bankruptcy by steering his father in the right director since his mother had died. He had been practically running the kingdom behind the scenes for years, to no credit of his own, and yet he was considered naive? He was young, yes, and mostly inexperienced, but he could do his job, at the very least. Who was he to say he was naive? 

“To ensure the safety and prosperity of both of our kingdoms, a marriage arrangement must be made.” His father spoke to him almost with a plead. “Adrien, try to understand.”

“I understand. We are using my life and your daughter’s life as bargaining chips instead of finding a more permanent and viable solution to fixing the problems in our kingdoms. What is stopping us from mending our tensions through diplomatic means?”

“Adrien,” his father gave him a warning look. 

A lot made sense then. The Rossis were powerful, intelligent people who were nearly running an equally powerful kingdom that owned resources and colonies around the world. Aldo was the right hand of the king, a confidant and a coconspirator, a collaborator. They were loyal to each other before all else. To go against their word would be death to their province. And their word seemed to be stronger than ever in Agres. 

How long had the Rossis been giving the king orders that went against the morals of an upstanding nation? How long had his father been manipulated into doing things he couldn't bare to do on the pain of death to his kingdom, chaos in the world? Sickness built in him. 

All for what? To have Lila and Adrien be married? What was this supposed to do, fix all of the problems? Or was there something more potent that the Rossis kingdom wanted to be done? Was this to bring more power to the house that was nearly in the position of kingship in the first place? 

“No.” Adrien said it firmly, though nothing in his body felt firm. His legs wobbled and his mind reeled, and he felt close to sickness. “No, you cannot control our kingdom so easily. I won’t allow it.”

“Adrien, please.”

“No, father.” He stared intently at Aldo Rossi, who had a conniving smile spread across his face. Fire built inside him. “I will not let this kingdom and the future of my people be held over our heads by a foreigner. I will not allow your word to rule my subjects.” 

A long, tension filled silence stretched before them. His father, for the first time, had little word in this decision, and he stood at the side helplessly, watching his son and someone who had been playing a friend for years make the choice for the future of a kingdom he ruled. It was a confusing battle they had found themselves in, and Adrien didn’t like the way he felt the ground shifting beneath him, his whole world tilting on his head. 

Perhaps he was naive, for not seeing this coming. There were decisions that his father had made that had been absolutely detrimental to the way things were run in the kingdom. Adrien had thought him unstable and confused. Instead, he was being manipulated and controlled, threatened to let his subjects suffer within a stable kingdom instead of letting them be thrown into utter tumult and certain death. 

Adrien was the first to turn, walking determinedly away and more worried for the future than he had ever been.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which MariChat finally happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that there's sad. In this story, the only sad is what gets the plot forward. I hate making my children suffer (not really) but it is necessary! 
> 
>  
> 
> That's what I keep telling myself.

Adrien was called away by his father, leaving a gaping emptiness in the air beside Marinette. Se watched him walk away with the king and a man who she had never seen before. It was likely that she had heard of him before, as he stood close to the king, some tension in the air between them, a familiarity that only came from enemies. 

Lila stood with them, but detached from the group as soon as Adrien was called over. She stood to the side and watched Marinette as Adrien was called away, a smirk forming around her lips. She must have known what was going on, or liked to think that she did. 

When the men had left them completely alone, walking back into the light of the party, and disappearing into the castle yet again, Lila approached Lady Bug. The dim light that reached them shimmered in her eyes as she stared directly at Marinette in a strangely unnerving way. Marinette had already decided that she wasn’t the fondest of Lila, and wished to remain as far away from her as possible, whenever possible, but her choices didn’t really seem to matter much at that moment. 

“You’re causing trouble.” Lila almost spat the words. 

“Excuse me?” The loneliness that Lady Bug had been feeling dissipated into defensive annoyance. 

“I told you last night. The prince is going to be engaged to me. There’s no way around it. In fact, my father is making _extra_ sure that he has no choice.” Lila smirked. “The fact that you’re trying to get in the way won’t stop it.”

“I’m not trying to get in the way of anything, contrary to popular opinion.” She crossed her arms over her chest, not liking the way that Lil’a eyes scanned her predatorily. “I was just trying to enjoy my evening. The prince asked _me_ to dance, not the other way around. If you have such a problem with it, then you should ask him yourself.” She tried to walk away, but there was no use. Lila blocked any path to escape. 

“We both know that’s not how things are done, Bug.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “And even if it were, you are still in my way.” Every word came like a punch to her stomach, a physical attack. “And I just can’t have that.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Marinette tried again, in vain, to walk away. Lila used most of her body to stop her. With a glance to the dance floor, looking for any means to break away, Marinette caught a glimpse of Chloe, Sabrina, and Madame, a tight group walking along the edge of the floor. They wove their way through tables, smiling jovially at passersby, trying to make the best impression they could. Their true intent shown in their eyes however, and Marinette could see them scouting for a proper gentleman to dance with. Hopefully the prince, they would think. 

Little did they know he was busy. 

Heart racing, she thought how perfect it was that the people she was trying most to avoid that night were making it incredibly difficult to stay away from. Horror struck her heart at the possible implications of her pseudo family finding her out of the house. Her mask was supposed to protect her, wasn’t it? But what if they could see through her? What if something went wrong? Terrible possibilities waved through her, and Lila could see the turmoil spelt out clearly on her face. The smile she bore across her face grew.

She brought an orange glove-covered hand up to Marinette’s cheek, fondling the earrings that were displayed at her neck. “These are truly lovely. I might have to take them as a reminder of your place.”

Lady Bug withdrew like a shock had just passed between them. The earrings were her lifeline, they were the only way she would be allowed in the event, they were her security and her blood. If anything happened to them, if they were taken away, Marinette had no idea what might happen to her. 

Her eyes involuntarily glanced to the trio who were skirting along the dancefloor, waiting to be asked to dance by someone who looked of a high enough station. 

“Please,” Marinette pleaded with Lila. “I don’t mean anything by dancing with him. It’s just a dance.”

Lila laughed. “How naive could you be? Do you see the way he looks at you? He’s obviously infatuated. You, however pathetic it might be, are a threat to my future. To the future of my family and my country. Do you understand?”

Marinette shook her head. 

“Of course you don’t.” Lila sighed heavily, something like disappointment crossing her face, and crept forward. “What did I really expect?”

It seemed as though the conversation was over then. Lila looked behind her to the crowds of people dancing, oblivious to their conversation, and looked to be turning away. Marinette let out a stream of breath and allowed her tense shoulders to relax. 

But Lila rethought, and turned swiftly. “You know, I think I might just take these. Remember where you belong,” she told Marinette, going to grab the earrings from her neck. 

Marinette gasped loudly as Lila clenched her hands around the dangling ruby teardrops and pulled. The sound brought her the attention of Chloe, who was closer than she had been moments before. Her step sister looked up as the mask disappeared from her face, her dress dissolving into nothingness, replaced with the dirty rags that she had been wearing that day. Chloe’s and Lila’s eyes alike widened as they watched Lady Bug be exchanged by a sad and abused serving girl. 

Panicked terror struck her as light burst from her, and she instinctively grabbed for the earrings in Lila’s hands. Shocked as the girl was, it was easy to rip them from her grasp. She turned on her heel and sprinted away from the light of the party, tearing into the ground with adrenaline fueled speed. The ground was hard beneath her feet, but she persisted. Strangled sobs broke from her chest and into the open air, the only noise besides her stamping heels. 

The lights disappeared altogether as she found herself in a labyrinthine maze of hedges, searching around her for an exit. It felt ironically appropriate for her situation. There was nothing she could do for herself to escape from her situation, so she kept running, trudging on aimlessly until she could find somewhere to stop or her body collapsed out from beneath her. Small lanterns were her only source of light, interspersedly placed within the hedges on either side, providing only enough illumination for her to not trip over her own feet. 

As she slowed, her body giving up its flight response to give way to a more pathetic sobbing trot, she saw before her a more intense light, shimmering through the thick, dark bushes that surrounded her. She followed it, her dry hiccups heaving through her chest and wracking her body, making it harder to walk than she would have liked. 

She had never been as scared as she had been at that moment. It felt as if there were a great, monstrous being before her, threatening her life, ripping it away from her. Her heart fluttered limply now that her adrenaline was replaced by frightened limping. 

The light grew before her, and she followed blindly, watching the hedges opening up to a clearing with a beautiful gazebo at its center. A massive tree grew from the heart of the structure, extending through the roof and canopying the entire clearing. Attached to each branch were hanging lanterns of all size, dripping like stars from the darkness of the awning of branches. 

Her breath caught in her throat, but this time not with a sob. The beauty of the clearing overwhelmed her. Warmth of the tiny, flickering flames soaked into her chilled body, and she was as comforted as she was when wrapped in Tikki’s magic. 

With awe in each step, she approached the gazebo. The ground was soft and plush where it was hard and icy as she ran. The air felt inviting and alive, like the aura of a hug, surrounding her in comfort. The earrings in her hands felt like heavy weights now, and she placed them in her smock pocket, momentarily forgetting about the trouble they had caused her. 

Now breathing completely evenly, she stepped onto the first stair of the old gazebo. Her fingers reached instinctively to the wall to steady herself, and she felt the slightly chipping paint crumble under her fingertips. But beyond that, the wood under her palm felt as warm and alive as the area surrounding her. 

She sat solemnly on one of the benches, and slowly opened her clenched fist to reveal the earrings that had been torn from her. 

The tiny jewels sparkled in the ight of the lanterns surrounding her. A warm fire pulsed within, alive with a power she could barely comprehend. She wondered, not for the first time, why she was chosen for whatever task laid before her. 

A slow wind encircled the clearing, whispering past her ears and picking up the hair that laid flaccid at her neck. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear and looked up to the boughs that spread out above her. The stars weren’t visible under the multitude of bright summer leaves, but she preferred it that way. The solitude and serenity of the clearing calmed her mind, and the fact that she knew no one was around made her heart slow to a throbbing pulse. 

What a disastrous occurrence. She wanted to lose herself in something other than her thoughts, but they came rushing towards her, full force. 

Chloe had _seen_ her. Lila had seen her. There were probably hundreds of others who watched Lady Bug transform into a commoner, a slave and servant to someone who lived off of a dead husband’s earnings. The glory and mystery that surrounded Lady Bug and made her more than she was, something beautiful and glorious, had faded into nothing. 

And now that Chloe knew who she was, she would probably be locked in her room forever, bound to live off of rainwater and the bugs that found their way into her room. Or she would be shipped away forever, never again seeing the home she had grown in and loved so dearly. She would never again go out to the grove she had just began to discover, never see Alya, her closest friend, or the old animals that were kept in the barn. What would be worse?

Chloe had always been cruel. Never so much as her mother, and always in words. She looked up to the teachings of her mother and emulated her to the best of her ability. Marinette saw whatever kindness she had, however fleeting, only when she was alone. The girls would share no more than thirty seconds of conversation that wasn’t strictly about what hairstyle to use that day, but Marinette saw something much less cruel underneath her blonde, stern exterior. 

With the hope she always held dear, she yearned for Chloe not to say anything. Or perhaps to think the entire thing had been a fluke, and that her eyes were playing tricks on her. 

Either way, Marinette would deny her participation in the ball to her last breath. She would, to the best of her ability, defend herself until there was irrefutable proof. 

Not that it mattered much, as Madame would do what she liked, and with the addition of her aunts, her punishment would be exponentially more miserable that whatever Madame could come up with on her own. Marinette shuttered with the memories of Rose tied to the tree, the gaping wounds on her back that still looked like they burned, even a week after they had been inflicted. How long would it take for them to fade into scars, like the other white marks on her back?

Without realizing it, tears began to flow down her cheeks, and helplessness crept into her chest. It had been far too often that this feeling overtook her, and she wished for it to never return to her. But nevertheless, it persisted.

The back of her hand brushed away the stinging tears that flooded her eyes, making the world go blurry. Her chest heaved heavy breaths that turned slowly into sobs as she considered the possibilities of her future. 

In no way would it be positive, and her despondency cemented itself in her mind. How she longed for a distraction, however minute. 

Through her quiet weeping, she did not hear the footsteps that inched towards her. She clenched her earrings protectively in her hands, trying to gain some comfort from their warmth, and buried her face in her palms, unable to see past the wetness of her eyes. 

“My lady,” she heard, and she startled. “Are you alright?” 

She briskly wiped her cheeks and tried to clear her eyes of their fog, but it took a while to finally see who stood before her. A wave of shock passed through her and she suddenly felt incredibly underdressed. 

Chat Noir, in his all black attire, had blended into the hedged that surrounded them until he stepped into the painted white space of the gazebo. He stood out spectacularly, his hair glimmering in the candlelight. He walked towards her with concern in his gaze, and his hands outstretched as if offering help to a scared animal. Similar surprise that she found in herself wafted through his expression. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, with a strangled voice. It was clear he didn’t believe her. “Ch-” she almost spoke his name, but remembered that they had never met. He had only ever seen Lady Bug, her alternate persona, her better half, the one that everyone preferred.

“May I sit?” he gestured to the bench beside her, and she nodded. He could do what he liked. She would remain where she was, doing as she wished. 

Gingerly, he sat beside her, and she curled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her chin settled on her knees and she breathed in the clear air of the night. The wind felt good against her warm cheeks. Unpleasant thoughts still danced around her head, taunting her. 

“It’s quite a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked quietly. He shifted beside her and she caught a glimpse of the nervous look across his face. 

“It is.”

She only responded because it was the polite thing to do, but she wished to have some peace. 

“It’s a shame you’ve found yourself alone at the ball.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

He dipped his head to look more clearly at her. “But you are now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite observant.”

The two shared a small chuckle. His green eyes brightened significantly, but they were stilled weighted down with concern. For her. She hated the pity she sensed in him. 

“How have you enjoyed yourself?”

She thought for a long moment of the dance she shared with the prince. His glittering smile played in her mind’s eye, and she couldn't help returning a grin. He was probably dancing now with Lila, who had all but promised to keep Lady Bug as far from him as possible. “I had a wonderful time.” She hid her face up to her nose within the pocket her knees provided, fending off the painful, prickling tears that never really went away. 

“Did you dance with anyone interesting?” He was quite persistent. 

“I did, in fact.” The faint humming of the orchestra strained through the hedges and made its way to them. More pleasant memories came to her along the streams of music. The dress Tikki made her, the dancing crowds that surrounded her, the laughing that mixed with chatter and music, and the way Adrien’s arms felt as they held her to him. He was interesting, as Chat had suggested, and she hadn’t even been able to ask a question. All they did was smile to each other, lost in the magic of the evening. 

“And you’re not going to dance now?” 

She turned to look at Chat, who had a sparkling curiosity in his eyes. “Who would dance with me? I’m in rags.”

“For all anyone else would know, you could be a princess in disguise.” She laughed at the thought. 

“What princess would lower themselves to this level?” Her chin settled back onto her knees. “No, it was a mistake to come tonight.” Too much bad had come from the one positive experience she had that night. Was it at all worth it?

“Nonsense. This party is for everyone. It is not about what you wear or who you are with. Commoners and noblemen dance together as we speak. In fact, I saw the king dancing with a shopkeep.” At that, they both let out laughs. The thought of the king, regal and proud, dancing with someone who had to earn their money was funnier than it should have been. She had never known the king to be kind in any way. In fact, everything she had seen of him had affected her life negatively. 

The constant taxations and regulations made finding affordable food during her weekly shopping trips almost impossible on the salary Madame gave her. Asking for more money would be impossible, so she made do with buying less, which made her go hungry, or buying cheaper foods that she would have to work into tasting better than they actually did. Her work doubled with every new declaration the king made. 

Long silence drew out between them, and Marinette found herself drawn to thoughts that didn’t cause her chest to ache. 

Chat stood and offered her a hand. “Would you care to dance?” he said, his voice quiet enough that the faint music could still be heard. 

A blush overcame Marinette. Had she expected to attend the ball in the first place, she would never have expected to come in such attire, and then to be asked to dance? She nearly forgot about the events of the night and brushed her fingers over his. 

In a swift movement, he grasped her hand carefully in his and pulled her toward him, and she whirled past, spinning and dipping low, Chat’s arm the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground. The blood rushed to her head as she stood from the dip, and she couldn't contain the smile that came to her. Chat placed his hand carefully at her hip, and she leaned close to him, as comfortable as she had been with him when she was Lady Bug. 

Her earrings were still gripped tightly in her hand, and she took a moment to sneak them into her pocket so she might fully enjoy her dancing. The warmth faded from her fingertips and spread instead from Chat’s presence. She allowed herself to drift off into a pleasant realm of thought, her head resting on Chat’s shoulder, their bodies swaying in time to the distant music. Her eyes drifted closed. 

“I’m going to miss it here,” she whispered, mostly to herself. 

“The ball is quite spectacular.” 

“No, not the ball. This city. Everything. I’m going to miss it.” It wasn’t forever, she reminded herself. But it was enough. 

Chat pulled back, looking down to her. Bittersweetness filled her gaze. “Where are you going?”

The safety that she felt with him betrayed her, and she found herself wanting to share everything with him. Her tongue felt slippery, waiting to spill secrets and hopes and wishes and fears, but instead she shook her head and went back to dancing. “It’s nothing.”

“Is this what you’re upset about?” he asked into her hair. 

She shrugged. “One reason.”

“The princess suffers,” he chuckled to her, and she let herself laugh. 

“If only I had the amenities of a princess. I might be able to escape my fate.”

“Princesses choose their fate.”

“Not this one,” she sighed. He pulled back again, his arms still firm around her body. Fingers threaded through hers, he squeezed lightly. 

“Princess, what bothers you?”

She relented, only because of the look he gave her. Where she felt pity radiating from others as she walked in the markets, as Rose and Juleka took over her work, as her cousins and step sisters watched her fumble around the house, he looked down with genuine concern. She had never seen such a look before, not directed at her. Sabrina sometimes looked at way at the hairstyles her mother employed. 

“I’m going away for a while, to live with my aunts. I wish I could stay. Honestly, I do. This city is my home, and I love it here, but my fate has called me away.” She smiled sadly. “But it’s not forever.”

“Tell me about your aunts,” he suggested. 

She rolled her eyes at the thought of them, a gesture she saved for herself in the safety of the kitchens. Any speaking out against the people she worked for was done in the privacy of her own room. “They’re terrible. They’re cruel and unjust. I received a present from a friend,” she pointed down to the leather slippers she wore on her feet, “and they believed I stole them. I’ve never stolen anything, besides scraps of food and fabric my family throws out to make my own clothes. And their punishments are savage. If my friend hadn’t come to my defense, I-” she shuddered at the thought. “I don’t wish to think what might have happened to me. But what happened to her was worse, taking the blame. I regret it every day.”

More concern slipped into his eyes as she spoke, increasing as she went on. “What was her punishment.”

She shook her head, refusing to let more mist to come to her eyes. Her eyes refused to meet him, afraid that by looking she might reveal something she didn’t mean to. The shakiness of her voice made it hush to no more than a whisper. “She would still be bedridden if she didn’t know how to make healing poultices. And she has scars… I don’t know how anyone would be so cruel.” 

“They hurt her?”

“I don’t wish to think about it,” she muttered, her head bowing in something that felt like shame. Guilt over the whole thing still filled her gut. Her fingers tightened around his, and he allowed her a brief respite as they danced. She waited for her pounding heart to calm down, and found it easy to forget what was in her mind, instead focusing on her feet, shuffling slowly across the floor. “Thank you,” she said into him, squeezing his hand lightly. It had been a long time since she had felt such kindness. 

The bells of the clock tower chimed, far away, but Marinette ignored them, despite her better judgement. She wanted to forget about her duties for a moment longer. 

Stepping away was painful, but she knew she had to. “I must be going,” she told him, meeting his eye for the first time since they began dancing. 

He nodded resolutely, but seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Her hand still in his, he brought her fingers to his lips and brushed his lips lightly across them. “It was lovely meeting you, princess.”

“Marinette,” she told him. 

“Marinette.” He nodded. “I am Chat Noir. I hope the rest of your night fares better than it has so far.”

She smiled, feeling significantly better after his distraction than before. “So do I. Your help was much appreciated.”

A smile accompanied the shaking of his head. “It was nothing. Goodnight, Marinette.”

“Goodnight, Chat Noir.” she watched his black form fade into the shadows along the edge of the clearing, and waited for several moments before she went about leaving. 

The earrings were no longer as warm as they had been, but they still resonated within her. She smiled down at them, thankful for the comfort they brought, and clipped them to her ears, the clasps pressing gently around her. “Tikki,” she called, and she found with relief the red fairy floating before her. 

“Hello, Marinette. I was worried. How are you doing?”

“I’m better now, thank you. But I’m afraid it’s time to go, and we don’t have much time to talk.”

Tikki flew closer and patted Marinette’s arm solemnly. “We’ll speak when we get home.”

“Spots on,” Marinette called, and allowed the red light to consume her, depositing Lady Bug out into the world. She stood in the gazebo, still unused to the feeling of Tikki’s transformation encompassing her, and began her walk back to through the ball and towards home.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette says her goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long Chapter alert. There was a lot to be said and done before the last night of the ball (!!!!) so have a little angst before a whole lot of fluff.
> 
> Edit: omg happy Mother's Day lol I didn't even realize I posted this despressing ass chapter about parents on Mother's Day forgive me
> 
> Edit Again: I haven't really been posting for a long time, and I'm super sorry about that. I promise that I've got some great stuff coming up (or at least I think it's p cool), so I hope you stick around for it. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for supporting this story and letting me know that you enjoy it. Comments really help and they make the writing process worth it. I love you guys <3

Marinette knew by the time she approached the house that she was late. She was beyond late. She had no idea how long the cousins had been at the house, but she knew that she would be in an inordinate amount of trouble when she arrived. And still, there was no telling what Chloe had said to them, if she said anything at all. 

Too tired to put off the inevitable, Marinette walked straight into the house, through the front doors, not even trying to be inconspicuous. The cousins, as she had expected, were in the parlor, sipping on tea that Juleka must have made. 

Marinette walked through the doors and stood silently in the threshold, her body not yet willing to take her where she must go. With a last deep breath, she took a step into the room. 

All talking ceased as she entered. She could feel eyes on her, though she didn’t look up to meet them. However brave she thought herself to be, it had always been a struggle to meet the eye of an angry aunt. After a long moment of silence, she glanced up, expecting someone to have spoken already. 

Madame had rage in her eyes. Chloe and Sabrina looked between their mother and the serving girl at the entrance of the parlor, unsure what to do or say. The aunts slowly sipped their tea while their children snickered between each other quietly. 

Marinette wanted to shrink away as their eyes landed collectively on her, but she forced herself to raise her chin and stand before them with as much confidence as she could muster. She clasped her hands behind her back to hide the shaking. It was only then that the silence was broken. 

“ _Where_ have you been?” Madame shrieked. 

“I was out for a walk.”

“At this hour?” 

“I find the night air refreshing.” It wasn’t completely a lie. She had made it a quarter mile away from the mansion until she thought she might be spotted by someone. Tikki detransformed, the beautiful carriage that had carried her to the ball disappearing in a flash of pink and golden light. Her dress dissolved around her, leaving her cold and underdressed. The short walk back home made her feet sore, but the night air had given her a shot of adrenaline, allowing her to make it all the way home without collapsing in an exhausted heap. 

Looking back, the latter may have been the better option. 

Madame rose, standing at her full height as she only did when she was truly upset. Her eyes had narrowed to slits and her hands were clenched at her sides. Chloe and Sabrina shrunk back, knowing full well the wrath of their mother. The cousins’ grins only widened, as if excited to experience a mythological fury they had only heard tales of. 

As she crept closer, Marinette refused to shrink back into herself. She had already dealt with one bully that night, and she was not about to cower in front of another one. Her earrings warmed slightly as she felt a reassuring confidence gather in the pit of her stomach. 

“It seems, my dear, as if you are looking for ever more creative ways to try my patience and generosity.” Marinette could have scoffed. What generosity had she ever shown? A spindly hand came up to caress the tired, dirty face of Marinette. “Now it is up to me to find a punishment suitable to your offense.”

“A good whipping always does some good,” Nadja suggested, sipping her tea as if she had just commented on the weather. 

Madame didn’t pull her gaze away from Marinette. “No, I think not. It is much too dirty, and we can still make use of her yet.” Now she turned, facing her sisters with a cruel smile. “I think, if she wishes so deeply to be without her home, she may want to stay with you, my sisters. Permanently.”

Marinette felt her heart sink to the floor. 

“I believe she will do much better under your supervision. Treat her as any other of your serving girls. Though I do suggest you keep her on a tighter leash. She can get rather… trying at times.” Madame turned back to Marinette. “You will leave with your aunts come Monday. You are dismissed.”

Marinette walked back to the kitchens without a word. Juleka and Rose asked her questions - where she had been, what had happened - but she hadn’t responded to any of them. There was nothing that she could say. The only hope that she held on to was being able to return home after she had spent weeks or months with her aunts. 

Now, she felt hopeless. 

It had happened much too quickly for her to fully process it. She still didn’t quite understand the magnitude. She was going to leave her home forever. Never again would she escape to the grotto and dip her tired feet in the cool water. Or hide away in the attic with her mother’s old belongings. 

The bell to Chloe’s room started ringing on the wall, and all three girls turned to look at it. 

“I’ll-” Juleka started to rise from her seat. 

“No,” Marinette stood, saying the first words that had come from her mouth in over an hour. “I’ll get it. I know her best.” She scurried from the room without another word, collecting a pot and teacup for tea and a collection of biscuits from a tray always kept on hand. 

If she were going to face any more horrors, it might as well come all at once. Chloe had seen her transform from Lady Bug into her raggedy self. What might she say now that she knew her secret?

Marinette walked in the servant’s entrance. Chloe started when she heard her enter. 

“You’re so quiet.”

“I must start practicing now. If I make a noise in the aunt’s service I might not make it out alive.” They held a long moment of eye contact before Marinette brought the tray of tea over to Chloe where she sat at her vanity. 

She had dispatched of her corset and dress by herself. The extensive skirts and layers of petticoats were hung carefully by the mantle, and a fire had not been lit. The nights were getting warmer, but Chloe always preferred to have a fire going. 

Carefully pouring the tea, Marinette allowed silence to be drawn out between them. There would be no use for words in her new employment. She might as well get used to being wallpaper. 

“Mother is cruel,” Chloe spat. 

When Marinette glanced up, Chloe was already looking squarely at her. Marinette didn’t speak. She watched as a wave of sadness and rage swept through Chloe’s eyes, igniting something Marinette had never seen in the girl. 

“She is cruel and terrible and ungrateful. She shouldn’t have done what she’s has done,” she heaved a sigh and stared straight into the mirror. She took a moment to adjust one of the locks of hair that had fallen into her eyes. After a long moment of fixing her hair with a drawn out tension between the two, Chloe breathed in sharply and hurriedly spoke. “I’m sorry for the ways that I have treated you. They have not been just. I have been just as bad as her at times, but-” her words cut off in a slight sob. 

Chloe had never treated her well, not really. With snide comments and expecting too much of a single girl running an entire household, she had always been on Marinette’s bad side. There hadn’t been much kindness between the two. But thinking back on her experiences, she had only ever been cruel in the presence of her mother, and never overtly so. Whenever Marinette entered Chloe’s room, there was a blanket of silence that covered the two. An air of odd professionalism forced the girls into stiff commands and platitudes. 

Sabrina, on the other hand, loved impressing her mother with increasingly clever modes of punishment. When Marinette came into her room, she would go out of her way to make her life more miserable, as if she enjoyed the torture. Oftentimes, she even suggested treatments to Madame so that her mother could carry them out herself, while Sabrina walked away with a comment of praise. 

But Chloe, especially recently, had been pulling away from the punishments her mother was so fond of. Come to think of it, she had been stepping back on her needs as well, requesting less of Marinette and the other serving girls in her house. With the recent bulk of the attention going to the cousins, Marinette hadn’t noticed that her usual duties to her stepsisters had dwindled. Even when she was among her mother, she offered less cruelty and more patience. 

“Marinette.” 

She was sure this was the first time she had ever heard her name coming from Chloe’s lips. 

“I should never have done what I have done.” Their eyes met briefly. “You have done nothing to deserve such treatment.”

They averted their gazes from each other at the same time. Chloe turned back to putting her hair in her nightly curlers, something she usually had Marinette do. But now, she struggled with them herself. It was infinitely harder to do them by hand, having to hold your arms above your head for so long, and her face had gone red with emotion, but she kept on. Marinette poured more tea, though Chloe had yet to touch it. She rearranged the biscuits on the platter, stirred sugar into the cooling liquid, made as little noise as possible. 

As Chloe struggled with a curler at the back of her head, Marinette stepped in, her fingers slowly replacing Chloe's. She placed herself behind the chair and deftly began wrapping the blonde locks in ribbons, tying them off so they would set while the girl slept. 

Chloe watched Marinette in the mirror, transfixed.

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” 

They worked silently alongside each other for a long while, their nightly routine one of muscle memory. Marinette tied each strand of Chloe’s hair into its curling ribbon and wrapped her head in a cloth to keep them all in place. Chloe smeared creams on her face, each one more expensive than the last, each designed to make her look more beautiful, as if she needed it. 

Chloe’s faults had never been on the outside. She was beautiful and petite, the very vision of perfection, but a cruelty had taken over her heart as it had her mother’s. 

Marinette remembered early in their relationship that their goingson had been pleasant, if brief. They played together sometimes, when Chloe had a spare toy that she didn’t have to share with Sabrina. They got along until her father died, and then a darkness overtook the house. 

A shadow fell over the estate, chasing lightness from every corner. The house warped into a cold, distant relative. No longer were the girls permitted to play with each other, and Marinette slowly took over the duties of the house. 

At first, she loved working with the animals outside. She fed the goats, horses and cows, ran with the dog around the backyard, and collected eggs from the chickens each morning, then went to cook with the over maids that worked the house. But soon, Madame had began letting servers go. Marinette took over more and more tasks. Laundry, cooking, cleaning, dressing, serving, washing, drying, gardening, shopping, and feeding. 

By the time the last server had been let go, Marinette no longer enjoyed her myriad tasks. There was no more laughter in the house as they left, no one to talk to and make light of their situation with. 

Chloe set her last smear of cream in place on her cheeks as Marinette finished with her hair. 

Neither had spoken in a long while, and Marinette stood quietly behind her chair, waiting for something to do. Chloe watched her, then stood. 

She turned around to face Marinette, the vanity chair standing between them. 

“Marinette,” Chloe breathed. She still couldn't meet eyes. “There is nothing I can do to make up for what I have done. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But…” Her hand reached out slightly, unsure. A silent war raged within her, but finally she decided to extend itself, placing shy fingers on Marinette’s shoulder. “I just need you to know that I am sorry for what has been done to you.”

A half a second later, and the two girls were leaning over the vanity chair, Chloe crushing Marinette’s body to her chest. She hugged as tightly as she could, and Marinette could soon feel a soft brush of tears falling onto her shoulder. Even in the awkward position,she decided to hug back, allowing, just for a moment, a bit of brevity in the heaviness of the household. 

 

The last day of the ball was close at hand, but it was still a Sunday, and Marinette was tasked with the responsibility of shopping for the sisters and Madame. She would have to get more than usual, as Madame still didn’t have a replacement and whatever temporary server they got would not have much time to put together meals. Marinette wanted to do right by them, and thus got more prepared meals and other items that could be easily fixed into meals than she ever previously got. 

As she was shopping, pulling Fang behind her through the thick crowds, she noticed the chatter. The city was more alive than it had ever been. Even as she stuck to the outskirts of the town, where markets were mostly the poor farmers and craftsmen lived, there were more richly dressed and decorated people about. Gold glittered on lapels everywhere Marinette walked, and they drew her curious eye away from her tasks. 

She marveled in the way new fabrics rustled in the dirt along the ground as opposed to the older dresses that the poorer patrons of the markets wore. Even her novice eye critiqued some of the more unfashionable styles seen around, and she couldn't have imagined what it would look like to someone such as Louis, who took style incredibly seriously. What he would have said about the flamingo pink and sapphire blue fur lined lapel of the lord that passed her on the street. 

Marinette wished she would have more time in the day to visit Louis and say goodbye to him, but she had far too much to get done that day. There would be no time to do much of anything she wanted to get done. Madame had her on a tighter leash that day, only giving her about a half hour in the markets to collect everything that she needed. 

She barely had time to breathe, let alone visit an old friend for a lengthy goodbye. 

Then again, she thought, what would Madame be able to do to her now? If she were a half hour late, even if she were an hour late, what could be done? What if she never went back at all?

She shook her head of the idea. With the cruelty of her aunts, her punishment would be put upon Rose and Juleka, and she would never forgive herself for causing more pain in their lives. 

Marinette wrapped up her chores quickly. She spent more than she had been meaning to, but paid no mind. It was no longer her responsibility to care for Madame or her money. 

She even went so far as to buy herself a small pastry from a local bakery. The crescent of flaky dough tasted like butter as it melted in her mouth, and she had to restrain herself from moaning into her food. 

Her father used to cook along with the servants. He was more than just a lord to them, he treated them with love and kindness. Often, he would treat the entire staff to expensive meals when he had enough money saved. He would prepare pastries and cakes that her mother had taught him to make. Marinette didn’t remember the way her mother made them, but she remembered the delicious taste that her father coaxed out of the dough.

When she had completed her tasks and was making her way back through the crowds, an hour had passed in the markets. She giggled to herself over her small act of rebellion, and sought after a little more. 

Louis’ shop shone out from the crowd like a beacon to her eyes. Every week there was a beautiful new dress standing in the shop window, and she marveled at it every time she passed. Today, it was a sparkling red gown that flowed well past the ankles, trailing behind the mannequin, onto the floor and feet behind. It was trimmed in a wonderful gold lace, and was accompanied by an equally lovely headpiece that glittered like a crown. It looked absolutely royal, and Marinette fell in love as she stood and stared at it. 

“Marinette, my love!” She heard from the doorway of the shop. Louis stood halfway out of his shop, smiling down from his stoop at the girl who was studying his work. “Do you like what you see?”

“Oh, Louis, it’s lovely.”

“Yes, I suppose.” His scrutinous eye glanced over the gown like it had likely done thousands of times before. “It’s been modeled after that ladybug character from the ball. You know the one?”

Marinette almost nodded, but reminded herself that she would not have been to the ball. She was not supposed to know anything about it. She shook her head. 

“Ah, well. She’s made quite the stir around the castle. And the city, quite frankly. Many of my clients want to look exactly like her. I can’t quite figure out what materials her skirts were made out of though. Perhaps some kind of tulle, but there was far too much sheen for such a rough fabric. It’s a mystery to me, my dear. Much like that Lady is to the kingdom.”

Despite herself, Marinette found herself curious about the reactions to her alter ego outside of her home. “What has been seen of her?”

“Not much of anything, except that she has caught the eye of the prince. They were quite close the entire night. Oh, those Rossis were beside themselves. I even saw that Lila girl convey emotion.”

“Rossi?” Marinette knew very well who was being spoken of. She hadn’t taken too kindly to the girl, but she longed for more information about the woman who was to take the hand of the prince. 

“Yes, the right hand of the King in some far off kingdom in Italy. He and his family have always thirsted for more power, and they have far reaching hands.” Louis looked at Marinette’s curious expression. He tilted his head to the side. “Would you care to learn more?” 

Marinette glanced to Fang, who reminded her of her chores, and she just about shook her head when a wave of defiance overtook her. She tied Fang’s reins to a post in front of the shop and tightened the saddle bags. “I would love to.”

“Excellent. I have much to say.” Louis ushered her inside and soon she sat in a plush chair in the corner of the shop while Louis fiddled around with several dresses and chatted to her all the while. 

“The Rossis are exceedingly rich,” Louis continued while Marinette sipped her tea and watched him work. “They have held power for centuries in their respective kingdom, but they always want more. They never sleep, never rest, those blood-thirsty creatures of the night.” Marinette giggled. Louis exaggerated, she knew, but it was fun to listen to his gossip. 

“I suppose they are here to capture the hand of the prince. They are powerful allies of the kingdom, the right hand to the king, with just about as much riches. They have spent their years collecting power and influence in every nook and cranny they have seen. Spinning their webs, bringing all the land into their control. Their influence is far reaching and merciless.” Louis shuttered and took a sip of his own tea. He was playing with the pleats of a skirt, a lovely blue and green creation that reminded Marinette of a peacock, lined in purple and gold. “Now that they have a daughter of suitable marrying age, no doubt they are trying to gain control of this kingdom as well. Marry a daughter to the prince, and you effectively rein over that land.

“Don’t be fooled, Marinette,” Louis warned. “The king may rule, but the queen makes the rules.” He winked to her and she laughed again. “Come here, my love. Help me with this draping.”

Marinette set down her tea and folded the luscious fabric carefully so the curves and ripples of blue and green would fall like feathers they represented in her mind. 

“Absolutely exquisite,” Louis muttered, examining her work. “I have said it before and I will say it again, my dear. You have quite the hand.” He took his needles back from her and repeated her work on the opposite side of the gown. “Whatever happened that fabric I gifted you? I did not see you at the ball in a beautiful purple gown. Have you disrespected my gift?”

She shook her head. “I gave it to one more deserving.”

Louis sighed. “There is none more deserving than you, my girl.” He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and spun around the model with the dress upon it, watching the fabric billow out gracefully and fall back in place. “I think we’re done here.” He called upon his assistant, who took away the mannequin and replaced it with another dress that needed much more work. It was nothing more than scraps at this point. 

Marinette, of course, disagreed with that sentiment. She had found her own way, after all. “What’s done is done, Louis. Thank you for your support.” 

Something about the tone of her voice caught his attention. He swirled around, placing a gentle eye upon her. “My darling,” he said very carefully, and Marinette could not help but release her hold on the weight in her chest. It plummeted to her stomach. “There is something you’re not telling me.” The weight blew up in size, heavier and heavier by the second, until she had no choice but to relent. 

“I am leaving, Louis. Tomorrow.”

There were no questions, like she had thought there might be. He did not ask where she was going, why she was leaving. He barely uttered a sound as they shared a conversation between themselves without words. 

“Well.” He cleared his throat of a lump that had stuck there. “I assume this means you don’t have time to bring us one last batch of cookie, does it?”

The tension in her stomach released slightly as she threw her arms around Louis, who hugged her back gently. He patted her head as she burried it in his lapel. She tried to remember everything she could about this moment, this place, and this man who believed in her when no one else had. Not even herself. 

“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to find your cookies somewhere else.”

“You wound me. None are as good as yours. If you think I’m going to suffer a lonely, loveless existence by experiencing cookies that were not made by the hands of Marinette Dupain Cheng, then you are sorely mistaken. I will miss them sorely.” He patted her head one last time. “And I will miss you most of all.”

“I will miss you, old friend.”

With one last bittersweet embrace, and several spools of fabric to take with her, Marinette was on her way back home. She must have been an hour and a half late, but she could not find it within herself to care. Rose and Juleka were packing their meager supplies in the kitchen when she returned and began unpacking the goods from her trip. 

The bell to Madame’s room tinkled behind her, and Marinette insisted on taking it. No doubt Juleka would be sent back either way. Madame would want to see her. 

Marinette entered the room from the server’s corridors with a tray of freshly boiled tea. She stepped as lightly as possible, attempting to make no sound despite the shaking of the expensive china in her hands. Her breath was loud in the quiet room. 

Madame was sitting at her vanity, slowly brushing her hair and taking the makeup from her face. She meticulously pieced apart her long, waving tresses, brushing them individually from the ends to the roots, careful to brush out any knot or imperfection. A thick layer of cream serum was plastered across her face and down her neck, an expensive salve that Marinette imported every month from a vendor from somewhere past the Mediterranean. 

A long, lithe hand slowly patted the empty space beside Madame, a silent order for Marinette to come and deliver the tea she held on a silver tray. Marinette complied immediately. She shuffled across the room silently and placed the tray where she had been ushered. 

“Anything else, Madame?” She hated the words as they came from her mouth. She wanted to kick and scream and tear her life away from the cold clutches of the woman she now faced. She wanted to reclaim herself, but her life and her dignity was firmly under the thumb of her master, the lady of the house. 

“That will be all.” Ever so slowly, Madame began to wipe the cream off of her face with a plush towel. Marinette sat, mesmerized by the motions, the elegance that made up Madame’s very essence. Too long she stayed, until Madame took notice. “That will be all, Marinette.”

The use of her name startled her. Twice she was shocked that the women of the house even knew her by her face, let alone by name. She was ever shown any sort of kindness by anyone, save for her short experience with Chloe the night before. 

She wondered what thoughts went through Madame’s head whenever Marinette was in the room. Whatever hatred, or shame, or regret that she was reminded of. Whatever made the woman hate her so much to make her life full of such torment. 

“I-” Marinette began to stumble with words that hadn’t fully formed into a thought. Madame looked up at the girl who had defied her so many times, a spirit that had never been broken. She looked on with awe as, once again, the girl was defying her. “Wh-” What was she going to ask? A bubbling of anger formed in the pit of her stomach, but years of practice gave her the skills to not show any of her emotions. So she stood, stoically, staring at her abuser, and asked, “Why must you be so cruel?”

Her hands shook by her side, and Madame, who had completely rid of the serum on her face, stared at her through the mirror. Without an answer, she picked up another container of clear liquid and began patting it on her face. “Cruel?” She patted along her hairline, smearing what looked like too much liquid on her face. “What cruelty have I shown you that you haven’t deserved, my dear?” 

The anger was now simmering in her stomach, growing hotter by the moment. “Every day of my life, you have devised a punishment more _cruel_ and terrible than the last. And when you can’t come up with something meant to demean and belittle me, you task your daughters with making fun of me to please you.”

“And why do you complain of this? Your punishments are always justified, you pathetic girl. You are insubordinate and dumb and clumsy. Every punishment I dole out is fully just.” Her voice was completely calm, but Marinette couldn't mistake the sound of fury underneath her words. “What you mistake as cruelty is what every other server sees as a firm hand. You see the way my sisters decide to discipline their girls. Have I ever stooped so low as to physically harm you?”

Her head hurt from the cartwheels that were going on in her head. “You - I sleep on the ground, in the dirt!” 

“Have you ever asked for a proper bed, child?”

“You never even give me clothes! My meals consist of the scraps left over by you and your daughters. You never allow me enough money to buy food for myself!” 

Madame laughed. “It seems you’ve become irresponsible with your spending. I’ve always given you enough money, if you spent it properly.” 

Marinette was boiling now. She was sure her face was red, and her hands were clenched tightly by her sides. How could she be blaming this on her? “You-! I-” She was completely speechless. “You treat me like I’m nothing! I don’t understand. You were never this way when my father was alive.”

Vials and containers of serums clattered on the vanity as Madame slammed her hand down on the table. “Do not bring him into this.”

“Why? Before he died, you treated me like your own. You loved me before he died. Then why now do you hate me? I loved you like a mother! He loved you.” 

“Your father never loved me.” 

“Yes, he-”

“He never loved me like he loved you. He never loved me like he loved your mother.” Madame was trying to hold herself together, but her walls were slipping. “Do not fool yourself into thinking that either of you had any love for me or my daughters. We were nothing but replacements for you. Bandages to mend the wounds of your loss.” 

“No.” Marinette recalled a time after her mother’s death when there was nothing but darkness and sadness. But when her father met another woman, who brought two beautiful daughters into the house, Marinette saw him smile for the first time since her mother had passed. The house was once again filled with life, and Marinette played with her new sisters like they had known each other since birth. 

Even when her father was away on his trips, there was still happiness in the house. Madame was never cruel, though she remained ever firm. “We were a family.”

Her laugh was ever bitter. “We were never a family. You were always too good for us. Your father only ever loved you and your mother. He never looked twice at me.” She refocused her gaze at her own reflection. 

“You really are cruel.” Marinette shook still. Never would she have imagined this conversation would come to pass. When she and her tormentor were standing as equals. When Marinette could speak her mind. 

“You act as the victim when you have been nothing but terrible to me since my father died. You desecrate his memory by torturing his only living daughter. How could I believe that you ever cared for him when you treat me like I’m nothing to you? Did he mean so little to you?”

Madame stood and whirled on her, face filled with fury she no longer repressed. 

“I loved him!”

A long silence drew between them while Marinette watched, shocked. 

“I loved him and he never loved me. He only cared for his dead wife and the child they had together. He only ever cared for my money and a reputation with a woman who wouldn't damage his good name. But you, Marinette…” Madame stepped forward, drawing themselves together and hypnotizing her with her gaze. “You look so much like your father. The man I loved. The man whose last thoughts were only for you, and not the woman he vowed himself to.” Tears fell down her face, but she ignored them completely. Her eyes trained on Marinette. “He promised himself to me, but he never belonged to me. 

“And he left me with you.” She turned back to her vanity and sat firmly in her chair. “A filthy reminder of everything that I’ve lost. A _cruel_ memory.” Another laugh ripped through the otherwise silent room. “And you call me cruel.” Gently, she blotted the wetness from her cheeks with a silk cloth. “You torment me every day with the memory of him and you never even have to say a word.”

There was nothing else for Marinette to say. Her mouth hung open and tears dripped silently from her eyes. She tried to absorb the information she had received, but it seemed impossible that there was a reason for her torment. She had brushed off Madame as needlessly, relentlessly mean, but she was just as hurt as Marinette. 

“That will be all, Marinette.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So every time I read a Cinderella story, I always wonder why the step mother is such a royal bitch, and the explanations never make sense to me. Like why would she just be so mean to Cinderella for no reason? So I had this idea a long ass time ago that she was jealous of Cinderella's fathers love for his daughter, and I really wanted to add it to this story, because I think I'm clever lol. 
> 
> Anyway, this entire story, especially this last scene, has been in development for the longest time. I really hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it ❤️


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plot actually happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t updated in like???? Six months. Sorry about that. I’m gonna apologize by posting this abnormally long, pretty thick chapter that I’ve been waiting for for like EVER. Some political intrigue for shits and giggles, and LadyNoir for the soul. 
> 
> Sorry for such a long wait. I’ve been soooo busy (study abroad, family obligations, school, work) that I had zero time to work on this. I promise I haven’t forgotten about it, and I am absolutely determined to finish this work. Updates may be more irregular, but they should never be this long apart. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me. I love you guys!

Adrien paced around his room, his temples throbbing with thought and confusion. The night before had been rampant with unexpected complications. His father expected him to marry Lila Rossi, the daughter of the hand of the Italian king. If he didn’t, the entire power structure of the kingdom might be at risk. Aldo Rossi had made it explicitly clear that there would be no substitute for his daughter, and there was no telling what he might do if Adrien refused the marriage proposal. 

The two kingdoms were tightly intertwined. The relationship between Agres and Italy had been strengthened through years of turmoil and peace, but they forever remained at each other’s side, ready to give aid wherever needed. The past hundreds of years, trade had been prosperous, and their countries safe. Agres could maintain itself on its own, what with the copious farmlands and ore deposits about the countrysides, but without the availability of trade with a rich land such as Italy, the kingdom would slowly crumble into poverty.

They needed to trade routes to stay open, and the Rossi’s knew this. But with one misstep, the trade would close. 

His father’s decisions about tax and trade made much more sense now. How long had the Rossi’s had a hand in the tariffs about the land. Trade with any kingdom that wasn’t Italy was taxed exponentially with every decree the king made. And the taxes demanded of the people that made life so hard were being directly transferred to the sister kingdom. 

The Rossi’s, hungry with power as they were, wanted control over more than just the Italian kingdom. They wanted to expand their power to Agres, with the marriage of the first daughter of marrying age in a half century. Lila already acted as if the proposal was set in stone, and as far as Adrien knew, it might as well have been. 

He had to think long and hard about the possibilities of saving his kingdom from the tyranny of the foreigners. 

If his marriage situation weren’t already complex enough, he had fallen head over heels with the mysterious Lady Bug who had swept into his life. His deal with his father about his marriage was tenuous, but Adrien wanted as much control over his life as possible. By his eighteenth birthday, which was coming in no more than three weeks, he was to choose a bride, or he was to marry Lila. 

This meant he had little time to figure out a solution to the problems his country faced, as well the longings of his own heart. 

He barely knew anything about Lady Bug, besides her name. Where she came from, her family and her lineage, even what she looked like behind her mask were all mysteries to him, but he was determined to figure it out. Even if she were a serving girl from a hundred miles away, he would not care. He felt his love for her boiling at the pit of his stomach. 

The other girl that caught his attention, if in a much more innocent way, was Marinette. It was a complete shock for him to see her. In the grotto, he had been completely convinced that she would be unable to make it. When he spoke with her as Chat the night before, he couldn't help but be enchanted by the memories of her kindness. And he noticed with impossible clarity that she wore his gift on her feet. 

But when she told him of the cruelty of her aunts, he couldn't help but become angry and concerned. They had hurt one of her friends. They had threatened to hurt her. And she said that she was leaving, for who knew how long. 

Somehow, the thought of losing her hurt more than it should have. He had known her for precious little time; half the information he knew of her she had shared with two completely different people, but he had a clear picture of her, and considered her a close friend. At least, as close a friend as he would ever have. 

She didn’t treat him as others did, even when he was Chat. As the prince, she treated him like he was any other person. He missed the genuine conversations he had with her in the grotto, talking about what they longed for and who they missed in their lives. Even with who he considered his closest friend, Nino, he never exposed that much. He was reserved with everyone but her. 

The idea that she was being hurt, and that she would be leaving him was too much for him to handle. He had to do something about it, but he knew not yet what. 

As he paced, a knock came to his door and a serving girl entered his room with a tray of tea. She smiled warmly to him and placed it on his vanity. 

“Thank you, Catherine,” he said.

She didn’t curtsy as she exited, as his father would have expected, but instead waved goodbye. The familiar gesture made Adrien grin. The cold professionalism that the house staff showed him when he was in the room with others made him uncomfortable. It was a small comfort that they could be casual in as formal a setting as in a castle. 

Another knock came on the door to the main entrance and Adrien called for their entrance. 

Much to his surprise, his father walked in. It was unlike him to knock at all, much less visit Adrien unannounced. Adrien stopped in his pacing, and his fidgeting hands fell to his sides. 

“Father,” he said with as much shock as he felt. 

“Adrien.” There was a strange feeling about his father that he wasn’t familiar with. A sincerity entered his voice, and Adrien was thrown further off guard. “May we speak for a moment?”

He nodded and the king entered, closing the door firmly behind him. He crossed the room without being imposing for what felt like the first time since Adrien’s mother had died. Silently, he settled into the chair at the table in the center of the room. Often, he remained standing, preferring to make his presence felt instead of having a two sided conversation with his son. 

“Please, sit,” he said without ordering him to do so. Nonetheless, Adrien sat at the table with his father, a pleasantry that was usually reserved for meals. “I must speak with you, and I wish that you can understand my decisions. Being the king is not easy, but I don’t wish to make excuses for my actions. There is no way that I can reverse the damage that I have wrought over the kingdom. For that, I will forever be sorry.” 

Gabriel took a long, deep breath, and Adrien was afraid to break the silence with a word. 

“Adrien. I want you to understand the precarious situation the country is in. I have done my best to protect the people, but there is only so much one can do in the face of foreign pressure. So I will explain as best as I can.” Adrien had already deciphered much, he thought. What was coming was less likely to surprise him than the king might think. But still, he waited and listened. 

“The Kingdom of Italy is immensely powerful, as you know. They are far larger than we are. They hold more land, protect more people, and their armies are ten times the force that ours are. Their economy is immense, and we rely on their trade for much of our prosperity, as you know. However, their reach extends farther than we could ever know.” He took a moment to collect himself. 

“Adrien, the royal houses of the kingdom have their hands in almost every kingdom within a thousand mile radius. They pull the strings however they wish, and they are collectively too powerful for us to resist. If we fight one, we are fighting all of them. We are completely at their mercy. Which is why,” he took a deep breath and sighed out his next words, “I have found it within the interest of the country not to resist. And I promise, it was not an easy decision to make. 

“The Rossi’s are the right hand to the king, and they hold almost as much power. However, they are greedy. With their connections to other kingdoms, they have been looking for places to root their power and expand. For whatever reason, they have chosen us.” 

The king took a long pause. Adrien could see the internal struggle behind the wetness in his father’s eyes. “Father,” he placed a hand on his arm. 

“My child.” They met eyes for a moment. “The Rossi’s are especially dangerous and cruel. They have a history of taking matters into their own hands. I can only suspect the amount of deaths they are responsible for, but I know that they have turned monarchies on their heads to control as much land as possible. Sons have been married to the widowed queens of small kingdoms for centuries, and the Rossi name has spread exponentially.” His voice cracked. “My son,” he said, looking at Adrien with an inexplicable amount of pain. “Whenever I try to resist, it only makes things worse. The last time I tried, they-” he paused to release what sounded like a sob. “They took your mother from me.”

Adrien stopped hearing his father’s words. His head twirled and throbbed more than it ever had. His vision blurred, and his ears began ringing. He thought he could not be surprised by what his father had told him, but that the Rossi’s had connections to his mother’s death… that they had killed her. 

The ruthlessness of the Italian family, and the willingness they had to do whatever means necessary to keep their subordinates in line made Adrien sick. He could feel bile rising in his throat, and his father continued speaking, but he couldn't make out the words. He wanted to scream and cry and deny it, but it was so plainly obvious. 

Before his mother had died, the kingdom had been as prosperous as it had ever been. His father had taken the land into its most profitable and peaceful era. Royal history and economy teachers taught him of the greatness of the nation he was destined to inherit. His father explained that the prosperity was because he had managed to release some of the hold from the Kingdom of Italy. Taxes to other lands were lowered, crops were flourishing, merchants were selling their best wares, and the kingdom was happy. 

Gabriel took the opportunity as the Rossi family was dealing with a foreign war to cut as many ties as they could, and it almost worked. The ringing in Adrien’s ears quieted as he tuned in to his father’s words once again. 

“It was the queen’s idea. She was always the smart one. I could never compare to her wit. She was the reason the kingdom was as strong as it was.” A bitter smile covered his face as a tear leaked down his cheek. “She told me to ignore the threats of retaliation. She was strong and kind as she was ruthless. She protected me, and she protected the kingdom to her dying breath. And in the end, that’s why they chose her. She would never have sacrificed her beloved kingdom for foreigner’s progress. But I could be manipulated. They saw this, so they did the unthinkable.” More tears joined the others as Gabriel looked up at his son. 

“I have done all I can to protect you. I couldn't bare the thought of losing you. So please… my son. You must do as they say.” Pleading entered his voice. “They are more powerful than you know, and they would get rid of you without a second thought.”

“Father,” Adrien interrupted. It was the first words he could manage to get out. “How do you know they wouldn't be rid of me after I married them into my family. With Lila as queen, they could do as they wished. I would be nothing to them. I wouldn't be able to stop them.” 

“There is no stopping them, Adrien. I have tried, and it ended in consequences that will forever haunt me.” He gripped Adrien’s hand where it was settled on his arm. “Please, do not try to fight them. There is too much to lose. We can still do well with their influence.” 

“No, father.” He couldn't help but unleash a little bit of his anger at his father. “We suffer under them. We always have. The best we have done is without their influence, you even said so yourself.” Adrien stood. “How can we condemn our people to a lifetime of servitude to a foreign power when we have to ability to resist? We are powerful without them, we have other allies. We can cut ties. We are not forced to do only as they decree.”

“Adrien, please.” 

“No! I will not stand by while our people suffer. We must do something.” 

“There is nothing to be done.” 

“There is always something to be done.” He thought back to what seemed like eons go, sitting in a beautiful grotto, protected by an old willow tree. No matter the end result, he must try. “I know it may not do much, but I have to make the effort.” Long ago, it was meant to convince a friend to come to the ball. Now, he said it with a promise to his people. He would not fail them. 

With a last nod to his father, he left his room, intent on making things right.   
_____

Marinette sat in the tower of her house, surrounded by artifacts of her mother’s life, a woman that she was never able to meet. Afraid that she would run away without the utmost security, Madame had locked her in the old attic until the next day, when she would be leaving in the early morning with her aunts. The family would be back by two in the morning, and no servant would get sleep that night as they packed the aunts and cousins for the following morning. 

It was almost cruel, the choice of space. In the dusty old attic, reminders of an old, happier life surrounded her. Portraits of her mother and father were hidden alongside diaries that Marinette had memorized in her earlier years. She glided around the tower, careful not to disturb the ghost of dust and memory that overlaid everything. She shifted through some old chests to find her favorite passages of her mother’s diary. 

The day she was married was her favorite. There was such happiness in the short passage, shorter than any other. She must have been too busy, caught up with the festivities, to write much down, but Marinette read and reread the faded ink until it was stuck in her mind forever. 

In the last moments that she had in her childhood home, she remembered as much about her father as she could, and the stories that he told her of her mother. They were as faded and old as the paintings that hid under white sheets, but she could still make out faint details. Her father’s laugh, and the old recipes of her mother’s that the staff would make to honor her. Dancing with her father, stepping on his feet as faint music played from an old music box. Fishing out old makeup from her mother’s things and making her cheeks red as her lips. 

When at last she grew too heavy to hold on to the memories, she sunk to the floor, sitting at the very center. She didn’t mind the dust that clustered around her and floated through the air. She breathed in the smell and committed it to memory. She refused to forget it. 

With her earrings firmly clasped around her ears, she was able to see Tikki floating around the dust specks shown in the rays of light of a dying day. 

“Tikki,” Marinette called. 

The fairy flew over and settled in her lap. “Yes, Marinette?” 

She thought for a moment, trying to find her words. “You said that I have a purpose, right? I’m supposed to do something.”

“That’s right. Every holder of the Miraculous does something special.” 

“Then how do you know that I’m supposed to leave?” In less than twelve hours, she would be gone from this place forever. “How am I supposed to do something special if I can’t even do anything right for myself? I’ve messed everything up, Tikki.” 

“Don’t think like that, Marinette. Things will work out for you. I told you, I’m the god of good luck. Whatever happens to you, it’s supposed to happen.” She placed a tiny hand on Marinette’s hand, and warmth flooded into her. 

She sighed. “I suppose. I just don’t know what is meant to happen. I can’t seem to trust my future.” 

“I can’t say it’ll be easy, but you’re meant to be a hero, Marinette.”

“A hero?” Marinette perked up slightly, but her confusion persisted. “How can I be a hero? I don’t have any powers. I’m no Heracles, no Gilgamesh. I can’t fight monsters.” 

“There are different types of heroes, Marinette. All I know for certain is that I’m going to get you to the ball, and we can take the rest from there. Okay?”

“But how do you expect that to happen? We’re locked in here. There’s no way out.” Marinette sighed and slumped into her lap. “It seems hopeless.” 

Tikki flew up to eye level. “We just have to ask for a little help,” she said, smiling broadly. Somehow, she always had a knowing, bright smile. 

“From who?” 

A creaking noise from the opposite side of the room alerted her. She turned to see a portion of the wall open, and moments later saw the black cat that had led her to the magical earrings in the first place. 

Marinette smiled to Tikki, then to the cat that slinked over to her lap. She pet him happily as he curled into her lap. “Why thank you, little one. I didn’t know there was a servant’s entrance up here.” She wrapped the cat in her arms and stood. He jumped from her arms and sat on a box in front of the door. 

“See, Marinette. I promise. Whatever happens to you is meant to happen.” They shared a brief smile. “Are you ready?”

Marinette nodded. “Tikki. Spots on.”  
_____

She seemed to have saved the best for last. While her other two dresses remained fitted at the bodice and exploded in a flurry of grand fabric, this one was simple in its beautiful elegance. She removed a black cloak at the door, with the entirety of the ballroom watching with great suspense. From within her cloak, she revealed a stunning red dress that flowed down her body, showing off the pull of her waist and swell of her hips. The bodice was alight with black jewels that traced an intricate pattern up her throat. They caught the candlelight of the venue and twinkled like stars.

Her hair was pulled up to show a black mask that curved gently about her pale face. It sparkled as well, but there didn’t seem to be any jewels sewn into the mask, as if it glowed of its own free will. Her lips, while usually red and luscious, were a pale neutral color, and were curved into a wondrous smile. 

As she descended the staircase, she held one arm out on the banister, showing a cape the same color of the dress secured to her elbow and wrist. It flowed behind her like it weighed absolutely nothing. The farther she stepped, the longer the dress tailed out behind her. The train fell down the steps behind her, coating the golden stairs with a waterfall of red fabric. 

At the bottom of the steps, she looked around the room and sighed happily, a greeting that allowed the other partygoers to return to their activities, satisfied at her entrance. 

Only a couple of steps into the crowd, she was greeted by Chat Noir, dressed to the nines. His golden bowtie no longer sparkled at the hollow of his throat, but was replaced by a black jeweled tie that disappeared into an intricately embroidered suit jacket. While he usually sported all black, his undershirt was a crisp white contrast to his black ensemble. He looked dashing with his black mask that matched hers, and his faux ears perked when he caught her looking. 

“My lady, what a wonderful surprise.”

“Mon chaton,” she laughed back. “What I wouldn't give for a dance.”

He grabbed her offered hand and bowed to kiss her knuckles. “It would be impolite to ignore such a request. Shall we?” He allowed her to grab his arm and pulled her into the crowd, where they spent several dances simply smiling fondly at each other. 

“It is nice to see you again,” he said in between a twirl. 

“I’ve missed you.” She smiled broadly. It was absolutely true. She felt right in his arms. Safe and warm, like Tikki’s magic had been redoubled. “It’s been too long.”

He laughed. “It’s only been a single day, my lady. Are you that fond of me?”

“Oh hush, tom cat. It has been a long couple of days, has it not?” 

“I couldn't agree more.” A darkness appeared in his eyes as he pulled her closer. “Although I must say dancing with you makes it all better, don’t you agree?”

She smirked behind the mask. “Are you that fond of me?”

“I am.” Deftly, he twirled her about herself and dipped her low, reminding her of the same move he pulled on Marinette in the gazebo the night before. He pulled her back up with another spin that made her laugh dizzily.

“Mon chaton, you must have missed me quite a bit.” 

“The days have been long and hard without you, my Lady. Seeing you brightens my day and lightens my step.”

“And you’re already so light on your feet to begin with.”

“I might just float away if I see any more of you.”

She paused jokingly. “Then I must never see you again. For your sake.”

He pulled her ever closer. “Seeing you, it is all worth it.” 

She placed a chaste kiss upon his nose, which sent a shock of butterflies into his stomach. The orchestra ended its song at that moment, and Lady Bug turned to clap, just missing the gaze of lovestruckenness that he gave her. The simple gesture, however friendly it was, left him reeling. As Chat and as Adrien, he longed to hold her in his arms. Dancing with her was one of the greatest pleasures he could afford himself at that moment. 

During the pause of the music, he heard the chimes of the belltower ringing out the time. It was eleven, he realized. He had been dancing with her for three hours, but he regretted none of the time. If he had the option, he would dance with her until they both expired. 

In the back of his mind, he reminded himself that it might he in his best interest to go and dance with Lila to appease his father and remind the Rossi’s that there was nothing to worry about at this time, before he began working on a way to unclench their fist from around his kingdom. That would be the smart thing to do, but he never considered himself particularly smart, or willful for that matter. 

All he wished, before he was plunged back into the world of political intrigue, before he would have to deal with the turmoil of his country, was to dance with Lady Bug and forget about his troubles for a moment. So, despite his better judgement, he laced his fingers between his Lady’s, and led her into the cool night air, away from the prying eyes of the masses. 

They were swept up once again with the flow of the dancers and the music, and almost forgot their need to eat. 

At his careful reminder, she acknowledged her own hunger. They migrated inside to the tables of food and selected a plateful of treats each. Lady Bug seemed to have a difficult time choosing, and eventually ended up with three plates in her hands. 

Chat laughed at her indecisiveness, and she stuck out her tongue at him. He laughed with shock. It had been years since he had seen anyone stick out their tongue at another, and he didn’t recall a time when anyone had done so to him. 

“They all look too good, and they must have taken an incredible amount of time to make. It would be a shame to not appreciate them.” She bit down into a fruit tart and sighed. Half of her plates were covered in desserts. “See? They’re too good to waste. I should have come simply for the food.”

“But the dancing isn’t too bad, I hope?” Chat smiled as he bit into a piece of chicken.

She swallowed another bite and winked at him. “Not when you have as good a partner as I do.” 

The wink melted him. Every gesture she made made him fall deeper in love with her. He couldn't believe it had only been days since he had first met her. It felt like a lifetime. 

“I’m flattered. My partner isn’t half bad, either.” 

“It’s easy when you don’t have to lead. I just follow your footsteps and hope I don’t trip on my dress.” She ran a delicate hand over the fabric, which he knew felt like cream. Even with his gloves on, he could feel as if he wore nothing. The magic Plagg provided was like nothing he had ever seen. 

As a boy, magicians had come to entertain him and his family in court. They would pull white doves out of top hats and make entire people disappear from under a sheet. He and his mother would always try and figure out how the tricks were done. Adrien was even pulled up on the stage to look closer, and still couldn't figure it out. But nothing was as spectacular as making something appear from thin air. And he still had no idea the extent of the fairy’s powers. 

But even the splendor of watching magicians weave magic, and the awe of Plagg’s power, was nothing compared to his Lady’s smile. 

He caught himself staring at her before she did and forced himself to look away. Across the ballroom, he saw his father standing next to Aldo Rossi and his children. He looked completely overrun by the family, surrounded and beaten. 

Lady Bug saw where his gaze landed and tilted her head to the side. “That’s Lila’s father, isn’t it?”

His attention snapped back to her. “Oh, him? Yes. Monsieur Aldo Rossi.” 

“Rossi?” Marinette recalled Louis telling her about the infamous Rossis who watched over the kingdom with a cruel hand, the secondary rulers of Agres. “I’ve heard tales. None of them kind. It makes sense that Lila came from such a breed.” 

Adrien laughed. “You’ve met her acquaintance?”

“Unfortunately.” Despite herself and the setting, she couldn't help the bitterness she felt about the girl. “I can’t say I would care to meet her again. I feel for the prince.”

Adrien stood at attention. “What of him?”

“He’s betrothed to her, isn’t he? At least, that’s the rumor going about. She certainly seems to think so.” She took a long drag of wine and another bite of a pastry that wasn’t as good as her father’s. 

“Betrothed? The prince? No. Not yet.” Adrien glanced back over to where Aldo was whispering in his father’s ear. “At least, not that I’m aware. Nothing is set in stone.” 

Lady Bug shrugged. “I think she takes our dances personally.” She could feel the wine going to her head. “She certainly doesn’t like the amount of time I’ve spent with him.” Her giggle echoed in her goblet as she took another sip. Soon, the glass was emptied and she forced herself to focus on eating instead of drinking. 

It had been far too long since she had had her fill of food. She was almost convinced her stomach had shrunk several sizes as she stuffed food into her mouth. With the hazy lights hanging overhead, and the warmth of the ballroom and wine in her belly, she didn’t seem to mind. 

The ringing chimes of the bell tower told her it was getting late. With another sip of wine, she forgot to care. What could her step mother do to her at this point? Yell and scream and complain? She was leaving the following morning anyway. That night was all she had left. 

And she was going to make the most of it. 

Standing, she offered a hand to Chat. “Care to dance?” He looked up at her with something that looked like shock. “It’s the last night of the ball, after all. The last night on earth. Might as well take advantage.” 

He took her hand with a smile, and she pulled him playfully to the dance floor. She buried her head into the crook of his neck and didn’t look back up for the next several songs. She tried to hide from the rest of the world in the arms of safety and comfort, but the sounds of the crowd still got to her. 

Chat pulled away slightly and looked closely at her. “My Lady, are you alright?” 

She nodded with a small smile. 

“You look upset.”

“Oh,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just going to miss it here so much.” A bud of recognition at her words sparked in his eyes and Marinette realized she had said such things before, in her different form. “The kingdom is lovely, nothing like my home, you know.”

“Where are you from?” She saw the suspicion disappear from his eyes and relaxed back into him. 

“Far away. I doubt you would know it.”

“I’m well learned in the surrounding kingdoms. I take great interest in geography.” Adrien felt curiosity build in him. He wanted to know so much about her, and this was the last moment he might ever have to satisfy his need. 

Marinette pulled away slightly. She couldn't come up with an answer quickly enough to put him off her trail. Bitterness over her future flooded in her and she felt it creep into her voice, unbidden. “It’s too far to come back regularly. And even if I were closer, I wouldn't have the means.” 

“My Lady, if-”

“Mon chaton,” she said, cutting him off with a kind smile. “Let’s not talk about it, shall we? I want to enjoy my last night with you.” 

Disappointed, Adrien nodded. “Of course, my Lady. Anything for you.” 

“Thank you, Chat.” They fell into comfortable silence again. She hugged him close to her. 

They spun together for an innumerable amount of songs. His hand on the small of her back guided her gently around the ballroom. He lifted her gracefully, dipped her effortlessly, and brought an unending smile to her face. She could see some looks of envy coming from around the room from men and women alike, but she paid them no mind. This would be her last night among them. 

She pushed her bitterness to the back of her mind. There was no place for it in a night so beautiful as this one, in a place so beautiful, with a companion so beautiful. She allowed herself to forget about what would be coming for her the following morning, and sunk her heart into dancing with Chat, who had been so kind and understanding. 

Perhaps she could tell him, she thought. He might be able to help, or offer kind words. She didn’t have anything to prove to him, she thought, and exposing herself as Marinette could even be beneficial to their relationship. 

But darkness and indecision clouded her mind. Fear clutched her heart and refused to let go. He could easily reject her. 

She was nothing as Marinette. She was small and dirty, with tangled hair, rough hands, and a terrible mother. All he knew was Lady Bug, who was glamorous, beautiful, confident. What would he think of he if he saw the truth?

And Tikki’s warnings rang in her ears. No one must know who she was. The curling mask she could just see around the peripherals of her vision was security that she needed. 

They made their way to the outskirts of the dance floor outside. Stone benches were still heated from the day’s sunshine. They sat upon one, Marinette looking out on the dance floor, and Chat staring directly at her. Her attentions were drawn away from him, and she didn’t see the adoration he held in his eyes for her. 

“Thank you, Chat,” she said, still staring at the throng of happy people. “You’ve been so kind to me.” Kindness was an unfamiliar sensation, but she welcomed it like an old friend. “It’s meant the world.”

Chiming bells struck the hour and Marinette sat up. “It’s almost two,” she gasped. 

Madame had told her she would be back by two. She had to be home now. She had to have left an hour ago. What was she thinking, staying out so late? So she wouldn’t be able to give her any more time on her sentence, but she could still hurt her. Her aunts were cruel, they would not be past whipping her to teach her a lesson. Or worse, they might hurt Rose and Juleka. 

What an idiot she had been. 

“Yes it is.” Chat watched Lady Bug stand straight up and begin to turn away. He grasped a gloved hand in his own to stop her from leaving and stood. “Where are you going?”

“I must leave,” she said, panicked. “I must be home. It’s so late.”

“But my Lady-”

“Please, Chat.” 

“Let me say goodbye at least. A farewell kiss.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “I really must be going, Chat.” She managed to pull herself away from him and began running. It was surprisingly easy in her heeled shoes. 

“Wait!” Adrien felt his curiosity get the better of him. It was the last night he would ever see her. He wanted still to know so much about her, to maybe find her someday. His love for her was overwhelming, he must be able to see her again. “Lady Bug!” 

He chased her through the ballrooms, and crowds parted before them. 

Marinette’s heart pounded faster than her feet, and she gripped the fronts of her skirts to avoid tripping. Up the stairs of the main ballroom, the guards at the top opened the grand doors for her exit. She glanced back behind her, where Chat was running to the base of the stairs. 

She wished she were able to stay, but so much was at stake. She pleaded with him in her glance to understand, but she could see his desperation as clear as her own. 

With one last look at the ballroom, she fled. Through the throne room, the foyer, and out the main doors, she flew. 

Up on the steps, she kept two at a time, occasionally tripping on her own feet. Chat yelled for her behind her, and it took all she had not to turn back and collapse into the comfort of his arms. Her carriage was waiting for her at the bottom of the endless stairs, the door open, her coach with reins in hand. 

She tripped horrendously on one stair and felt her foot slip out from beneath her, her shoe dislocating from her feet and flying through the air. It landed with a clatter behind her. Her instincts told her to grab it, but looking behind her, Chat was almost upon her. 

At the bottom of the stairs, she dove into her carriage, and the door closed behind her. She watched through the window as Chat stumbled to a stop. 

He stared after her as she rode away, the glittering of her shoe the only reminder she left behind.


	22. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which marinette catches a break

Cold, wet mud slapped the underside of the carriage as it raced down the road. Marinette sat in its back seat, being uneasily jostled back and forth with every bump in the road or turn taken too quickly. She held tightly to the earrings dangling at her neck, feeling the warmth that Tikki offered with her magic. 

She didn’t know when Madame would be home, nor when she would be. The night was growing old, and her nerves escalated with every passing minute.

What might her torture be for being so late that night? 

Tikki stopped just beyond the gate that lead to the mansion’s drive. Marinette felt the warm fabric of her dress slip off of her being, and her glass shoe turned to leather. The carriage dissipated around her in a flash of red and pink light. Her hair fell down around her shoulders, no longer tethered by pins made of magic and warmth. 

Marinette grabbed the front of her dirty skirts and began running down the drive with her spare shoe in hand. Her bare feet turned up the mud created by a light summer rain. The cool water splattered across her forehead and plastered her hair to her cheeks in messy curls. She sprinted to the kitchens and stood, panting, in the doorway. 

Neither Rose nor Juleka were in sight, and she wondered where they might be. Certainly, Madame and her sisters had already returned from the ball. 

As quickly as possible, Marinette washed off her face and muddy feet, and found an old pair of worn slippers to put on her feet in place of her lost shoe. She hid the spare under her makeshift bed. Water for tea boiled in the furnace, and she hurried to the cabinets to prepare a plate of biscuits for her returning family members. 

When the kettle sang, she poured the boiling water into a clay pot filled with bags of tea and carried the tray up the broken stairs to the main building. 

Marinette approached the parlor, and was perplexed that she didn’t hear any noise. No chatter, no singing or laughing or music. It was dark and silent, as was the rest of the house. 

The china rattled as she set it down on a side table in the parlor, and went to explore the house. 

Bedrooms were empty, as were powder rooms, closets, and under beds. When she walked back down to the kitchens, they were empty as well. 

Marinette sat with a huff on the only chair in the kitchen. It’s rickety legs wobbled beneath her but held steady. She listened carefully around the house, but heard nothing but the soft snoring of barn animals outside. Wistfully, she stood and walked out to them. 

The rain had stopped, but left thick mud on the ground. She walked through it without a thought and sit on one of the few benches outside. The old dog that used to herd sheep in the pasture walked over to her. Most of the livestock had been sold upon the death of her father. All that was left were horses for the carriages, cows for milk, and chickens for eggs. Goats, sheep, ducks, and swan were no longer found on the property as they used to be. 

She pet the head of the old dog absentmindedly. The racing of her heart eventually slowed to a trot, then a slow walk, and she breathed deeply in the warmth of the night. 

It was strange to have a moment to think. The stars sparkled brightly above her through the dispersing rain clouds, and a light breeze carried to her the smells of the wet night. She loved the smell of the rain. 

Sitting back and mindlessly petting the dog’s head in her lap, she thought of what would happen the next day. They were leaving early, as her aunts had to return to their home by the following evening, and it took almost an entire day to get back. 

Marinette was dreading the ride, in a cramped space with so many other girls who would no doubt be yelling at each other for some unknown reason the entire time. She preferred the silence of the kitchens, or the occasional singular noises of her sisters playing music or singing in the parlor, perhaps having a civil conversation about their marriage prospects. She had no idea what to expect from her aunts and cousins. She had never been to their mansion before. She didn’t know who they had on staff. She was scared. 

After perhaps an hour of sitting in wait for the group to arrive, she heard the quiet crunch of wheels and hooves on the gravel drive. She stood quickly and put the water back on. 

She remembered the tea tray that she had set on the parlor table before she had gone to explore the house, and jumped into action. The tea would likely be cold, and the girls would have nothing to do with it. 

Marinette scrambled quickly up the servant’s corridor and to the parlor, where she just grabbed the tray before Madame appeared in the doorway. 

“You have tea prepared?” 

Marinette shook her head. “I’m brewing a fresh pot. This has been sitting out. I thought you would be here earlier.”

Madame sighed heavily. “Yes, well. We assumed that we would have some luck with the girls at the ball, but the gentlemen were much harder to figure out. Butchers were wearing purple. Purple!” She ran her hands down her own purple gown and shivered. “Could you imagine? Common folk dressed up like royals. It took quite a while to weed out the unsuitable dregs for the true gentlemen of the pack.” She shuffled her clutch in her hands and picked imaginary lint from her glove. 

“We won’t be needing tea tonight. The girls are going straight to bed, they have an early start tomorrow. Go, go.” She shooed Marinette away and she bowed her head, walking shyly towards the exit. As she made it to the door, Madame called for her again. “You know, Marinette. You’ve put us in quite a bind, doing what you did. I didn’t want to do what I did, but you forced my hand.”

Marinette tensed. There was no reason, really, for Madame to do what she had done. She had claimed her terrible treatment of her step daughter was in the name of a lost, unrequited love, but that didn’t excuse the malice in her heart. 

Under the guise of a broken heart, Madame used Marinette to satisfy her every whim. She slept on the floor, searched for scraps to eat, never had a warm night in the winter or a cool one in the summer. She was small and skinny and pale for her age, the gaunt hollow to her cheeks only accentuated by the crop of fringe that she swept to the side. Her calloused hands and feet and the ache in her lower back were constant reminders that when she lived in that house, she was not a part of the family, and she was not safe. 

No tragic backstory excused the suffering she went through. 

“No one made you do what you did, stepmother.” She bit out the words. They crunched in her mouth. “You had every chance to treat me with decency, but you _chose_ to be cruel. You chose to treat me like a dog, and work me like… like you had no regard for me, or for my father. You claimed you loved him, but you never showed a hint of love for the only thing he left behind!” 

Marinette refused to make eye contact. Too many thoughts were whirling in her head and she was afraid if she looked at Madame’s stern gaze she would lose her spine. 

Truthfully, she couldn't imagine anyone she knew stooping to the lows that Madame had, besides the woman’s sisters. Tyrantry ran in their family, she supposed. 

Her friends, who she just now began considering her friends, would have given her a bed to sleep in. They would have let her sleep in their own if they didn’t have the means, while Madame left her lying on soaking and rotten hay too hard for the cows to eat. 

Alya would have brought her in, her house smelling like fresh flowers, and let her eat with her family, rather than let her fend for herself and eat whatever her stepsisters didn’t finish. 

Louis might have traded her a plate of cookies for gorgeous sun dresses and evening gowns that he made with extra special care. 

Chat Noir might have told her a joke when she was feeling lonely. He night have bowed low and kissed her hand and called her ‘My Lady’, and they would have smiled to one another and he would have made her feel better, if only for a moment. 

And Adrien. 

She spent hours imagining what he might have done if she asked. Fanciful daydreams of him sweeping her away to his castle and lavishing her with gowns and affection clouded her mind, and brought her away from her current situation for the moment. 

She wished more than anything that she could replace her life with one like theirs. And she asked herself why she allowed this life to continue the way it had. She deserved better, did she not?

“You treated me like dirt for years. You abused me, neglected me, and hurt me. Every day!” The tray clenched in her hands, the china rattling as she shook. “While you taunted me with the treasures Chloe and Sabrina were given, you gave me nothing. Less than nothing! And worse, you made me believe that I deserved it.”

She got the courage to look at Madame, who didn’t look angry. She looked perplexed. Stunned. 

“But no one - _no one_ \- deserves what you did to me. And I see that now, no thanks to your influence. And I know that no matter what I face with your sisters, it won’t be as bad as what I get here. Nothing could be.” She laughed bitterly. “How could it be?

“I’m glad I’m leaving. I’m scared, but I’m glad. Getting away from you is going to do me well.” She turned and left. The silence was tense and thick as she fled down the stairs with the tray in her hand. She attended to some of her cousins and her stepsisters to ready them for bed, but avoided Madame at all cost. With any luck, she wouldn’t see her at all before it was time for her to leave.  
……

They were up before the sun was even cresting along the horizon. Marinette held her little nap sack over her shoulder, stuffed to the brim with her mother’s journals and her spare shoe. She had saved some scraps of the fabric that Louis had given her for the dress she gave to Alya. There might have been enough material to make herself a shirt or a skirt, so she brought them along with her. 

Juleka, Rose, and Marinette loaded the large trunks that held her cousin’s elaborate dresses, shoes, and shawls into the carriage. It took half the morning to lug them all the way down the stairs without bumping them into the narrow walls of the servant’s corridors. When they finally made it to the bottom, they were sweating and panting. 

They put their own things in alongside the other trunks, which all together took up barely a fraction of the space available. Rose and Juleka only took a pair of shoes and two fresh outfits along with them. They had no trinkets, nothing to remind them of their home. 

Marinette knew that the two didn’t actually grow up in their master’s house like she had. They lived normal children’s lives up until they began to work. And they were able to go home to sleep during the night, if they wished. Although many preferred to sleep in the mansion, as the walk home was long, and they worked hard into the night, then rose early the next morning. 

Juleka had told Marinette that they barely saw their families except for some weekday nights. They were expected to work even harder on weekdays, especially when they had guests. But occasionally, the women of the house were out, and they had little work to do. If the other staff were feeling especially generous, they would cover the work of someone with a sick child to take care of, or who had some other matters to tend to. 

It wasn’t as bad as she thought, she had been assured. The mistresses were much more lenient when they weren’t trying to make a good impression on guests. But you still had to tread lightly, especially when they were in a bad mood. They weren’t above whipping in any context. 

The three girls escorted the seven women from their bedrooms to the awaiting carriage. It had been pulled as close to the steps of the mansion as possible to avoid them having to step in the mud created from the previous night’s rains. Manon still complained that she was getting her skirts dirty. Aurora snapped back that it was because she was so short. 

This caused a ripple of fighting to careen through the girls, who all began picking on each other’s various unfortunate features. Alix’s short hair, which she got caught in some tree sap when she was out climbing and had to be cut off. Aurora’s nails, which she bit to wicks. Manon’s height, even though she claimed she was the youngest and couldn’t help it. No matter how small, they were picked on and they bit down viciously. No holds were barred. 

Marinette was shocked that they hadn’t all killed each other yet. 

Her aunts were the last to come down. When they appeared at the door, held open by Rose and Juleka on either side, the arguing was silenced. They allowed their aunts to get in the carriage first, and they took up the space they needed. The other five girls cramped themselves into the little spaces that were left to them. Manon sat on the floor. 

Rose and Juleka prepared them breakfast and lunch for the long journey, but they would have dinner when they reached home. The three servants sat in the front, covered from head to toe in the warmest clothes they could find. Though it would warm up by midday, the night air had yet to disperse with the coming of the sun, and the wind was frigid and cold. 

Marinette had less to bundle up with than the other girls, but she insisted she would be fine. She suppressed the chattering of her teeth as Juleka took the reins. 

When she looked back at the door of the mansion, she saw Madam, still in her nightgown, standing at the door. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and there were traces of her night cream still on her face where it had not absorbed into her skin. Her look of malice shot shivers down her spine, and she quickly looked away. 

Slowly at first, the horses yoked to the carriage began pulling, then gaining speed. They turned away from the house and began down the lane; eventually the horses sped to a trot. 

At the gates, they turned on the lane away from the town and the castle. Marinette stood on the bench to get a last look at the mansion. She saw the vague shape of Madame still standing in the entrance way, but she ignored her presence in favor of the gardens she had tended her entire life. 

She saw how the night’s rain created dew along the patterns of their leaves and petals, and how they glistened with the dawning sun. She watched the tiny stream of smoke coming from the kitchen’s chimneys dissipating almost as soon as it touched the air. She looked in the windows of the tower that her mother’s things were stored in. There were so many memories there that she would never uncover, but she carried with her the thoughts and feelings that her mother had written down. She was taking with her as many memories as she could fit into her bag. 

Eventually, the carriage left the property behind, and a crop of trees obscured her view of the house. She looked out for a little while longer, but eventually forced herself to sit down. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on one of her hands, closing her eyes and swaying with the bumps in the road. 

She heard the girls talking loudly in the carriage behind her. The morning birds were just beginning to chirp. The gravel road crunched beneath the feet of the horses in front of her, the wheels beneath her, and something far behind. 

Her ears perked up at this unfamiliar sound, like a horse riding hard on the road behind them. 

She stood up and turned to look behind them. The sun glinted off of the gold accents on the horse’s bridle and the man’s uniform. He was riding hard towards them, and gaining ground fast. He seemed to see her head peek up from in front of the carriage and he waved at her. 

“Juleka.” 

The other girl hummed in response. 

“Juleka, stop the carriage.” They shared a frantic look and Juleka complied, pulling the horses to the side of the narrow road. 

“What’s the matter?” Rose and Juleka stood and turned along with Marinette, and they saw the man on the horse overtake them, rearing his horse back to stop him from treading further. 

“I don’t know.” Marinette jumped down from the carriage as he did the same. It took a moment, but he recognized him and the strange muffs he wore around his neck. He had come to deliver the invitations for the ball. He had been charming, but she was confused as to what he was doing here now. 

They met each other by the front of the carriage. Nadja stuck her head out from the carriage window and glared at Marinette. “Why on earth have we stopped? We have a strict schedule to stick to. If we don’t go now, we will miss dinner with the Barron!”

The words meant little to nothing to Marinette. 

“Please stay calm, ma’am,” the guard said, and Nadja almost rebutted before she saw the seal along his lapel. He was clearly a guard, and a high ranking one at that. She may not live close to the capitol but she knew to respect the guards. “I’m an emissary of the prince, here to collect a special package.” He nodded to Marinette. 

Nadja took a long time to connect the dots. Truthfully, it took Marinette a while to understand what he was implying as well. 

“Me?”

“Her?” Nadja shrieked. 

“Marinette, isn’t it?” He addressed her without acknowledging her aunt. 

“Nino, I believe?” They shook hands and Marinette couldn't help but smiling widely. 

“Indeed, it is. It is nice to see you again.”

“I was thinking just the same. But what are you doing here?” 

Nino quieted the braying of his horse with a calm hand. “The prince has decided to hand pick several serving hands from around the kingdom to come and work for him at the castle.” Marinette sputtered. “He has chosen you as one of them.”

“Absolutely not!” Nadja ejected herself from the carriage at record speed and walked directly over to Nino. Despite social contracts to the contrary, she sized up the royal guard, not about to let go another hand that would serve her. “This girl is coming to work with me by order of her _stepmother_. She rightfully belongs to me. I don’t care if you’re working for the king! She is not going anywhere.”

Nino looked between Marinette and Nadja. “Well,” he pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Quite frankly, I’m not sure I appreciate how you speak of the royal family. And despite your previous misconceptions, you cannot legally own a person, especially not this girl, as she now, if she chooses to,” he glanced to Marinette as a courtesy, “works for the prince. As do, if they so choose, those two girls riding along with her.” Rose and Juleka stuck their heads a little farther into the conversation. They had not expected to be noticed at all, especially by a royal guard. It was a servant’s duty to remain anonymous and invisible. That they were recognized at all was strange. 

“The prince considers himself a soft hearted man,” Nino continued with a familiar smirk, “and he has decided to rescue these young women from the clutches of evil women such as yourself.” Nadja choked on her breath. “So, if you wouldn’t mind, I shall escort you all to the castle, where you will be taken home by special guard, and these three will be taken under the wing of our staff. Unfortunately, you will miss your dinner with the Barron. I do hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience for you.”

He turned to the three girls who stood, stunned, at the development. “Ladies?”

Juleka nodded and began turning the carriage around. She had completely forgotten about Nadja, who had yet to get back into the carriage, and who immediately started yelling when the carriage started moving without her in it. 

Once turned around, Nino rode alongside the carriage, keeping the conversation light, talking about the amenities of the castle. The kitchens were huge, the gardens massive, and the staff equally pleasant. Marinette couldn't help but keep a confused smile on her face. She was still completely unsure if this was a dream or not, but the carriage kept moving towards the castle. 

They passed by the mansion once again, and Marinette saw all three women of the house standing at the door of the mansion. She watched them as she passed, and could just make out the looks on their faces. Madame and Sabrina had their arms tightly crossed, but Chloe looked light and relieved. A smile brushed her lips and she waved discretely as they passed. 

Marinette waved back, sure this time that she was dreaming. But as they got to the castle, whatever clouds in Marinette’s mind disappeared, and she found herself feeling right for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aka: in which Nino is a sassy bitch and I love him
> 
> Come bother me at rescue-satellite.tumblr.com


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the kids find some relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5000 HITS!!!!!!!! I could not be more grateful. All y’alls support mean the world to me. Thank you for sticking around through inconsistent updates lol. Here’s another surprise update, bc I’m the worst. A lil Adrinette to say thank you.

Adrien laid on his bed, staring at the glittering shoe that took up residence on his bedside table. He tucked his fists under his chin and stared, watching as the light from outside made it shimmer and shine. It reminded him of the ball, and how the candlelight played in the eyes of the girl the shoe belonged to. He wanted so deeply to find her again, whoever she was. 

Perhaps she would come back for the shoe, he thought. But he remembered the hurry that she was in, and thought it improbable. She said she was leaving for a long time. She said she would miss it here, and he hoped the longing for the castle would bring her back. 

If her longing was anywhere as deep as his, she would be back at any moment. 

A knock on the servant’s door brought in a girl who smiled at him as she poured water into the basin on his table. Steam flooded the space above the bowl, and as he watched the swirls buffet in the invisible currents of the room, the servant pouring from the pitcher had disappeared back through the door she came in from. He was left again in silence as he stared at the glittering shoe on his bedside table. 

He sighed and sunk deeper into his plush bed. The sheets were strewn across the bed and onto the floor, his large comforter pushed to the ground long ago. It was much too warm in the dying summer’s nights, even as it slowly transitioned to the fall. Again, he sighed, content to do nothing that day but stare at a shoe. 

“Quit sighing, kid. You’re ruining the vibe.” Plagg sat on the table on the opposite side of the bed. He had flown to hide when the servant entered, but now he resumed munching on his cheese. It wasn’t unusual to hear him complaining loudly about Adrien’s attitude. 

“What am I supposed to do, Plagg? It’s not like I know who she is.” 

The tiny fairy flew from where his pile of cheese sat and settled in to the shoe like it was a glass throne. Adrien was appalled. He flung his hand out to shoo him away, and Plagg spooked, fuzzing up to twice his size. His tail flicked angrily but he flew front he shoe anyway. 

“Don’t get cheese on it.”

“Like I could make it smell any worse.”

“It doesn't smell, Plagg!” 

“You’ve been sniffing it?”

“I-” Adrien stammered. “No! I- it doesn't smell. And either way, I don’t want your stinky cheese anywhere near it. It’ll get dirty.”

“Whatever, the shininess is giving me a headache anyway. How have you been staring at it for so long.”

“I haven’t been-” 

Plagg gave him a pointed stare. 

“Okay, fine. I’ve been staring at it for a while. But-”

He was going to make what he thought would be a convincing point when there was a knock on the front door. Plagg didn't waste any time fusing through the table to hide in the drawer. Adrien sprung from his bed and ran a hand through his hair, then his clothes, but realized it was no use. There was no getting rid of the wrinkles that had permanently tangled themselves into the fabric of the clothes. 

A quick peek in a mirror revealed that his hair was a little worse for wear as well. He ran to the bowl of water on the table and splashed some in his face. It was way too hot for him, and he immediately regretted not testing the temperature first. His cheeks were no doubt burning red when he turned to see Lila coming through his door. 

His face and hair were dripping wet, but he placed his best and brightest smile on his face nonetheless. “Lila! What a pleasure. Is there anything I can do for you?”

She was fully dressed, unlike he was, and had likely been that way for hours. Adrien had been ignoring many of his responsibilities that morning, claiming that he was feeling unwell. It wasn’t untrue, but the truth had been stretched considerably. 

“I heard that you weren’t feeling your best, and I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help.” If it were said with any other tone, Adrien would have assumed it to be innocent. But, somehow, with the absence of her mask, Lila was even more intimidating. And frightening. Her lips curved into a smile he knew well as the one she used when her father couldn't see her. It was trying too hard to be seductive, but it still worked. 

She walked towards him from across the room like she was hunting down prey. Not totally inaccurate, Adrien thought. He was her prize. And in her presence, he was immediately nervous. His skin crawled as she got closer. 

“I’ve just been recovering from the ball,” he explained. 

“You had too much to drink?” She giggled behind her hand. 

Adrien backed in to the table as she kept getting closer. “Not… exactly.” 

“I, for one, would have loved to see that. But I saw so very little of you last night.” She pouted. Actually, bottom lip jutting out, pouting. “Where did you go? I wanted to dance with you.” One of her gloved hands traced a line down his chest and he realized how very exposed he was. 

“Um-I…” he twisted out of her grasp and marched around the table, using it like a shield. “I was - I had some,” he cleared his throat, “other matters to attend to.”

“Unfortunate.” Her persistence was admirable, but she saw that she might be scaring him away. In fact, she was literally scaring him away. So she sat instead, smoothing down her skirts and reaching for another course of action. “I’m sorry, Adrien.” Her entire demeanor changed, and he could not have been more caught off guard. 

She sighed heavily and looked at her hands. “I don’t think my family has been very fair to you. _I_ haven’t been very fair to you. I know my father has been manipulating yours all these years, and I have hated every minute of it. He expects me - us - to secure the future of our people, and to keep them safe. But the way he is doing it-“ she shook her head and looked sadly at Adrien. 

He shifted in his seat. 

“I never wanted to be a part of it. But he’s my father.” Pleading entered her voice. “You must understand what it’s like. I love him, even if I disagree with him, and I would do anything for him.”

If anyone could understand it, it was Adrien. But he knew too intimately the lengths the Rossis had gone to in order to secure power. 

“I just never meant to get someone else involved in all this. Especially not someone as kind as you are.” Her smile was barely perceptible. 

Adrien wanted to be convinced. He wanted to think that this girl wasn’t trying to manipulate him into marrying her just so she and her family could have power. But he knew too much about her family to trust her. His mother had never trusted them, tried to get as far from them as possible, and had paid with her life. 

“In the spirit of kindness, I am going to tell you now that I have no intention of marrying you.” A shock went through her body, and the softness of her expression hardened into something spiteful. “I never had the intention, and the plotting of our fathers and your family will do nothing to sway me. I am not going to marry you. In fact, I am going to do everything in my power to strip your influence from my people. I don’t doubt that you’re father has ordered you to do what you are doing, but I cannot let it stand if I am to be king.”

Lila stood. Her mouth opened and closed like she was going to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Going so soon?” Adrien stood as well, walking to the door, and holding it open for her. “I enjoyed our chat. I’m feeling much better. Thank you for your visit.” He bowed as she stormed from the room. 

In her huff, she almost knocked Nino over as he walked towards Adrien’s room. The boys shared a look. 

Nino smirked. “Always the heartbreaker, aren’t you?”

“Something like that.” Adrien watched as Lila’s skirts whipped down the hallways and disappeared around a corner. “What dire news do you have to bestow upon me, old friend?” 

“Nothing bad, I promise.” Nino entered the room and adrien closed the door firmly behind them. Clothes were set out for him on the dresser on the opposite side of the room, and he went to get dressed. “I found the girl you asked for and offered her the job. She accepted.”

Adrien was glad he was turned away, because the broad smile that overtook him way almost embarrassing. Heat rose in his face at the thought of Marinette being safe and protected inside castle walls. Far away from her abusive family. “Excellent.” He stepped behind a thin curtain and began to get dressed. “Has she arrived?”

“They have.”

His head peeked out from behind the curtain. “They?”

Nino nodded. “There were some… complications.”

“What happened?” He had finished dressing and emerged from behind the curtain. His hands found their way instinctively behind his back, and he fought the urge to scowl like his father. 

“There were two other servants with her, and they were being treated horrendously by their mistress. She claimed that she owned them, and I acted impulsively.” He paused. “I offered them all jobs at the castle, and they all accepted.”

It looked like Nino was preparing to get reprimanded. He stood tall like a soldier, and he kept his gaze sternly forward. His arms were secured behind his back, and for a moment, they mirrored each other. But Adrien’s smile was not something that Nino expected. 

“That’s great. Thank you for offering them the opportunity. I was right to send you.”

His friend looked confused, if relieved. “Well. Your father was less than pleased.”

Adrien paled. “My father?” A nod. “How did he find out?” 

“He was in the courtyard early this morning. I had to arrange transport for the mistresses back to their home, as all of their servants are now under your employment, and the king arrived in time to see them leave, and for the new servants to be introduced to their new coworkers. He was… not happy. He wishes to speak with you.” 

“Ah.”

“Yes.” 

Adrien slumped down in a chair and rubbed his temples. He was feeling more like his father with every motion he made. “That’s inconvenient.” It would have been nice if he could have kept Marinette’s arrival and ensuing employment at the castle a well kept secret from his father, like he had planned. Apparently, his father was of a different mindset. And now he would have to answer for his actions. “Where am I to meet him?”

“He’s waiting for you in the throne room.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

The throne room. Only at his most upset would his father summon Adrien to speak in the throne room, where he would sit upon his throne and look down at Adrien with every speck of disdain he could summon. Worse than watching his father place his hands behind his back and stare down his nose, was seeing every emotion in his fingers, gripping at the armrests of the throne or rubbing at his temples. “The throne room, then.”

“Shall I call the mortuary?” 

“I think it would be wise to plan ahead.” Adrien sternly walked to his door, where Nino waited to exit the room. 

His friend grabbed his upper arm before he could open the door. “Adrien. I’m… sorry.” Neither of them met the other’s eye. “For getting you in this situation.”

“I told you,” he clapped a hand on his back and smiled reassuringly. “You did right by our people. That’s all I can ask. Thank you for caring for them.” They shared one last moment of silence before Adrien opened the door and walked determinedly to the throne room, and whatever fate he had coming for him. 

The king was pacing around the floor below the throne’s pedestal when Adrien arrived. “Father,” he announced as he entered the room, hoping the fond pet name would alleviate some of the harsh punishment to come. 

“Son,” Gabriel responded, turning to him. “Good. I’ve been waiting for you.”

It was strange not to see him sitting upon his throne. Whenever the two were in this room, Adrien would stand beside his father, or at his feet, watching him dole out punishments, or knight a new soldier, or settle petty disputes among the kingdom. Standing in the middle of the room, his presence was more unsettling than Adrien had anticipated, yet more welcome. 

“Yes, I’ve been told. What do you wish to speak to me about.”

“Come,” his father said, in lieu of an answer. Adrien followed up the steps of the pedestal, and the men stood on either side of the throne. Gabriel stared down at the throne, memories flashing across his eyes like a story Adrien couldn't comprehend. “It’s very nearly your time, my child.” His voice was soft. “This throne will be yours. This kingdom will be yours, all of its people under your care. And you-”

He looked straight into Adrien’s eyes, and he prepared himself for the reprimand that was to come. 

“You could not be more prepared. And I could not be more proud.” 

Shock. Confusion. Happiness. Relief. “You… you’re not mad?”

“I’m furious. Nothing you have done is for the benefit of the kingdom. Everything that you do puts your people further and further at risk. Denying the Rossis puts us in more danger than you know. Speaking as such to Lila this morning-”

“Wait, wait. How did you hear so quickly about Lila? That only happened minutes ago.”

“Such pertinent information spreads quickly. I know much more than you might think, Adrien. You should not have done what you have done. You cannot begin to fathom the ramifications.”

“You think I can’t, but I understand perfectly.” Adrien took a step down the pedestal, if only to get more room to breathe. He refused to raise his voice, or to turn to a tone that was anything less than pleasant. He had had this conversation with his father before, and he was not turning down the path of anger. “I am doing what is best for our people in the long run. I’m protecting them, all of them, from the threat of foreigners. Foreigners that you have not had the spine to stand against, but I do.”

“So you think inviting some poor, abused servants to the castle will do anything to protect the rest of the kingdom?” Adrien staggered. “Are you going to invite every unfortunate soul to stay with us? Every sad story will be met with all the resources the castle can provide? When will it end, Adrien? When we are destitute and the kingdom is in ruins?”

“We have more than enough. If I see someone in need of help, I am going to help. It’s how I was raised.” The memory of his mother shot through them both. They could see her shining eyes, and how they dulled as she died. They saw her bright light that spread across the kingdom, bringing joy and peace wherever it touched, and the ensuing darkness when her light was extinguished, replaced by the shadow of the Rossi’s rule. “I am going to protect my people. Whatever the cost.” 

The king’s eyes softened. His shoulders slumped in a way he only did in the most private of situations. His usually tight-lipped expression loosened to a neutral, relieved expression. “Good.” He nodded, and Adrien remained off balance. “That is a good quality in a king.” 

He began his descent down the steps, leaving Adrien in the shadow of the throne. “I just hope you are ready to pay for its costs.”  
…….

The three girls were already at work in the kitchens when Adrien arrived. Instead of the bows accompanied by his father’s entrance, Adrien was greeted with smiles and fond nods, which he returned in kind. 

“Afternoon, Highness.” The head of house, Mrs. Nell, still refused to call Adrien by his name. She was raised alongside his father, and said it felt wrong to her to address royalty so informally. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” It didn’t stop her from speaking casually with him, which he appreciated. 

“I heard there were some new recruits that needed settling.” 

Mrs. Nell chuckled. “You sound like they’re being trained for war. Recruits,” she giggled at the word like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, shaking her head. “They’ve been assigned to kitchen work for the moment, until we find a place for them. They were sprucing quite suddenly at us.” She eyed Adrien only slightly accusatorily, but with good nature. Her lips betrayed her smile. “Apparently the dark haired one is fond of the seams. The others are house workers. You can talk with ‘em if you like. They won’t be too busy until we find a good place for them.”

“Thank you, Nell.”

She swatted at him with a spare rag. “Mrs. Nell. You know that, you rascal.”

Adrien grinned widely and took a grape off of the vine she was tending to. “Thank you, Mrs. Nell, for finding a place for them on such short notice.”

“On no notice,” she muttered under her breath as Adrien walked to find the girls in the bustling kitchen. He had already eaten the breakfast they had prepared that morning, and they were preparing the final touches of the lunch that would be spread across the castle, feeding the diplomats, heads of councils, and the visiting Rossis. They were a busy crew, if the bustling of the kitchen were any sign. 

Adrien caught the familiar hints of raven hair through the bustle of the crowd and marched towards it. Marinette was washing dirty dishes in a large basin with two other girls he had never seen before. He tried to know the faces of everyone on his staff, so he assumed these were the unexpected additions Nino had told him about. 

She noticed him before he made it across the room, and a smile blossomed across her cheeks. Her eyes instantly brightened, and her work was forgotten as she sprang from her seat to go to him. 

“Adrien!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly, and he just barely had the opportunity to return the favor before she pulled away and smiled brightly at him. It was nice to see her face again. He realized it had been too long since they had met like this, him without a mask. He would have to choose his words carefully. “I can’t believe you made this happen.” 

The work in the kitchen was marginally quieter and he felt eyes and ears trained on them. The word would get around quickly, he assumed. No doubt his father knew before it even happened. 

“How did you know?” 

“I-” he didn’t quite know how to respond. “I saw you at the ball,” he said, hoping it was a safe route to take. “You looked upset when you left, and from what you’ve told me about your family, I wanted to do what I could to make sure you were safe. So I took steps.” He realized very acutely that they were holding each other’s hands between them. He pulled away and scratched the back of his neck, blushing lightly. 

Marinette backed away as well, her blush matching his. “Well, it came at just the right time. I was about to be shipped off with my aunts to serve them. Your messenger arrived just in time. And he invited Rose and Juleka, too.” She turned and walked back over to the basin of water where the other girls were working. She sat and resumed her work, but her smile remained. “This is Adrien,” she announced. “He’s the one who offered us this opportunity.” 

A dark haired girl with a stoic expression nodded to him, and the pale girl with shock-white hair smiled warmly. “We’re very honored for the opportunity. Working at the castle has been a longtime dream of mine.” 

“I’m glad.”

“It’s even more beautiful than I had expected. The gardens are lovely. Everything is lovely!” the small blonde girl raved. Her short hair bounced lively around her round face, and Adrien could feel his fondness for her growing with every second she smiled. 

“My father would be very pleased to hear that. The gardens are a special pleasure of his.” 

The two girls opposite of them shared looks. The blonde girl spoke first again. “Your father?” 

“The king,” Adrien nodded. 

“Oh!” The two girls shot to their feet, wiped their dripping hands off on their skirts, and curtsied deeply to him. “We apologize for not knowing sooner. We’re so embarrassed.”

“No, no, please.” Adrien waved his hands in front of him. “Please, you don’t need to address me formally. I’m Adrien to my staff.”

Rose and Juleka rose from their curtsies and eyed each other with skepticism. Marinette had to reassure them. 

“It’s fine, I promise. Adrien is a kind soul. He means it.” She smiled up at him and he couldn't help but smile himself. It was an infectious grin, and he always found himself feeling lighter whenever he saw it. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” 

“I mean it, too.” They shared a giggle. 

A beat passed as he watched them clean dishes for a moment. Then a thought sprung on Adrien. “I heard that you enjoy sewing.” 

Marinette noticed the comment was directed at her, and she looked back up at him. A blush overtook her. “Oh… well, yes. I mean. I don’t know if I’m very good at it, but I do sew occasionally. I’ve made a dress for the ball recently, but I wasn’t able to wear it. I guess I like it. Louis says I’m pretty good. Oh, Louis is a seamstress and a tailor. He’s pretty famous. He’s a friend. But I-” she stopped in her tracks. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Juleka answered for him. 

“You’re fine. Well, if that’s the case, then I believe I will move you to a seamstress position. You’d be working under some of the best in the kingdom.” 

Her eyes went wide, and Adrien giggled at the shocked expression. “Oh Adrien, no. That’s too much!”

“Not at all.” He placed a careful hand on her shoulder. “I want to help in anyway I can. If you have any troubles,” he nodded to the girls across the basin as well, “let me know. I will do everything in my power to set it right.” 

Worth a final smile goodbye, he left the kitchen to their gossipy whispering.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are both clueless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops this in your lap after three months and runs away*

Marinette could barely sleep the first night in the castle. The beds were too soft, the sound of other’s breathing filled the air, and the blankets covering her were too warm. It was nothing like she was used to. It was better, much better. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for hating sleeping on a mattress of her own. 

She pulled her blanket onto the floor and curled up with the thinnest pillow she could find. It was a hard task, as most pillows were filled to the brim with soft goose feathers, and shrouded in fine silk. It felt like lying on water, being comforted by clouds. 

After two hours of shifting on the cold stone floor, she decided trying to sleep was useless. Even the floor felt too comfortable, somehow. The ceilings were too tall, the walls too colorful, the entire room felt like something out of a fairytale, and she was right in the middle of it all. It was too much for her. 

She grabbed the new shoes she was given by the mistress of the house and a cloak that reached her knees. It was warm and wollen, shielding her from the breeze that swept across the castle grounds. 

The stars were glistening against the fountains in the main courtyard, making it look like the water itself was producing light. The topiaries were trimmed so neatly, they looked like statues, completely still even in the slight breeze. They looked identical to the actual statues interspersed between them, made of marble and costing more than anything she had ever laid her eyes on. The cobblestone path beneath her shone, each stone like polished glass. She could almost see herself reflected in them if she looked closely enough. 

Night air filled her lungs as she wandered the gardens. She didn’t know why, but she felt the most comfortable there, among the roses and awakening buds that felt like her own little garden back home. She barely had room for flowering plants like those she found at the castle, as concerned as she was about providing food for herself. But she did manage to sneak in a rose bush or two. Her mother had always loved roses. Her father was allergic, but he loved them, too. 

The grounds were completely quiet, save the rustling of the wind in the high trees. The leaves were beginning to turn as the summer drew nearer to an end. The tips of the branches were beginning to sour into a yellow. Soon, they would turn completely and the leaves would dry and crunch beneath her feet. 

She looked forward to the changing of the seasons as a child, when she would go out with her father and mother and run in the leaves, or play in the rains. They would bundle her up and let her play for hours, until she would come back inside, drink warm milk and watch the snow fall out a window. 

But now, she dreaded the change. The nights grew long and cold, and she was forced to huddle into herself to fend off the frigid air. There was no amount of blankets or clothing that could ward off the cold, so she shivered herself to sleep every night. 

How would it all change, now that she worked for the prince? In the castle, there was barely a room that did not have a fire raging at all times. The hallways were warm. The lowest floors, where heat rarely penetrated, were seeped in warmth. 

It was astounding, the work that was put into keeping the entire place running. The staff of hundreds barely had time for leisure, but they still enjoyed the work. They were not pushed and abused as she was at home. They did not have to struggle to complete tasks on their own, or face the wrathful tongue of a jealous stepmother. It was easier here. A fact that hadn’t completely formed in Marinette’s mind. It still confused her. 

Her feet carried her aimlessly around the gardens, until she found herself at the entrance of a hedge maze. The walls were familiar. She remembered it like ti was from a dream, even though she had only been there two nights before. The entire world seemed to slow down as she wandered into the maze. 

The light sounds of breeze and flowing water disappeared within the walls of the maze. There was a new kind of silence, where nothing stirred but the clouds above her. She found her way to the middle with surprising ease. The gazebo stood like the remembered it, with a large, beautiful tree sprouting from the middle, bursting through the roof, its limbs cascading around the clearing and creating a roof that blocked out any light. 

Lanterns from the ball still hung around, but they were no longer lit. It was almost completely dark. Nevertheless, she found her way into the gazebo, and sat on the splintering wood. She sat back on the bench and sighed deeply. Somewhere around her, the noise echoed back to her in an unfamiliar tone. 

She sat stick straight and looked around to find where the noise came from. “Who’s there?” It seemed silly to ask to the darkness, but it spoke back. 

“It’s just me, princess.” 

Chat’s voice was like butter as it rang from a shadow somewhere. It purred through her and sent her shivering. 

“Chat. I can’t say I’m not surprised to see you. Well, hear you. Where are you hiding?”

Shuffling from above her drew her gaze. With a light oomphf, she watched him drop from the roof of the gazebo and land in front of her. 

“Your athleticism is astounding,” she commented with a giggle. 

He didn’t share her smile. 

“What’s the matter, kitty?” When he didn’t respond, she shifted to the side and patted the space on the bench next to her. “Come sit. Tell me your story.” 

He padded across the gazebo floor silently and slumped on the bench beside her. It was then that she noticed the object he held in his hand. 

A crystalline, sparkling slipper. 

The same shoe she had been wearing the night of the ball. 

For a long minute, she was confused, then she was frightened and worried, then settled back into confusion. Once her magic disappeared, wouldn't the same happen to the shoe? It should have turned back to the slipper that Adrien had given her, and it would have given away her entire secret. Instead of the beautiful sparkling thing that Tikki had created for her, it should be soft and leathery and fit her perfectly. 

Why did he still have it, she wondered, and why was it still in this form? It would turn back at any second, she thought, dreading the worst. It would turn into the dull shoe that she used to wear and Chat would understand that his Lady was nothing but a fake and a fraud. 

But the magic remained, and the shoe glittered in the nonexistent light of the clearing. Chat stared at it with something that looked like longing. She kept her gaze on him, studying him. 

His eyes were no longer covered by a mask, but the darkness obscured his features enough that he remained a stranger to her. There was something different about the curve of his lips and the bridge of his nose, but his eyes were the same as they had ever been. They were steady and green and breathtaking. 

It was all she could do to say a few words. “You have… a shoe.”

He moved the slipper around in his hands, contemplating it, then broke his gaze with it and moved to her. His attention encompassed her, and she could feel her heartbeat pick up. “It’s my Lady’s shoe. She dropped it at the ball. I’ve been holding on to it for her. I’ve been-” he sighed and his head fell back. The bright green of his eyes disappeared behind his lids, and his eyebrows cinched above them. “I’ve been waiting for her to come back.”

Marinette sighed to herself. Would Ladybug ever come back? As far as she knew, her usefulness has expired. She was no longer needed, so she would never transform again, and become that beautiful, ethereal beauty that Tikki had made her. For a moment, she wanted to relieve that feeling again. She wanted to be Ladybug. “Tell me about her,” she suggested. 

It was more for her than it was for him, but she watched his entire face light up at the prospect of telling someone about his Lady. “She’s wonderful,” he breathed. He used the present tense, she noticed, like she was still with them. Marinette reached up to her earrings and guessed that maybe, in some way, she still was. What more was Ladybug that Marinette in a dress, afterall? “She is kind and beautiful and strong. We’ve only talked for a short time, but I feel like I truly know her. And I want to know more about her and I…” he couldn't finish, and she didn't blame him. 

What could be said. No one really knew Ladybug. Sure, she had caught the prince’s attention, but she was no more than a figment of the imagination. Marinette grew jealous of her, of the attention and love that surrounded her, where Marinette had none. She wanted to transform then and there, and show Chat that Marinette was Ladybug and Ladybug was Marinette, and he didn’t have to try and find what was already right there. 

“I miss her,” Chat whispered, and Marinette agreed. 

“Maybe she’ll come back,” she offered fruitlessly. 

Chat shook his head. “She’s far away by now.”

“How do you know?” 

“She told me so.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember. “She told me that she lives far from here, and she might never return again. I want her to return, to find her again, but I have no way of knowing where she might be. I have no way of contacting her, or letting her know how much she means to me. I don’t know what I can do.”

“Well,” Marinette began, and then stopped. There wasn’t much she could offer that would make him feel better. She felt bad that she left in such a rush. Maybe if she had said a proper goodbye… “I’m sure she misses you as much as you her.”

The corners of his lips drifted upwards. “Perhaps.”

“She does. There’s much to miss about you.”

Chat blinked at her through a curtain of golden hair. “You flatter me, princess?”

“I thought that was obvious.” His smile was radiant. “It’s nothing more than you already know. You’re quite something, Chat.”

“You mean you’re quite something.” 

“I know what I said,” she giggled. He smiled into his hands, where the shoe still slept. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” 

“My pleasure, Chat Noir. And who knows. Maybe she’s still in the kingdom,” she suggested. “You never know. She could be a commoner in disguise. She could be right under your nose. You just have to find her.” She was being too bold, and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself. 

“And how would I go about finding her, do you think?” 

Marinette glanced at the shoe. “Well. You have her shoe. Might as well see if it fits.” 

He turned in her seat. “Would you try it on?”

Their eyes met for a moment too long, and Marinette realised he was serious. There was curiosity in his eyes, an intense, searching look that burned into her. Did he want it to be hers? Did she want him to know? She hesitated for a moment, and managed to croak out, “I’ve got my own shoes, thank you. Though I’m flattered you think so much of me.” 

“You are special, Marinette. There’s something special about you.” She was glad the darkness hid her blush from him. He stood, towering over her in her seat, and tucked the shoe away somewhere on his person. “Thank you, princess. For always remaining my confidant.” He took her hand and leaned forward, barely touching his lips to her knuckles before he dropped her hand and disappeared into the darkness beyond the gazebo. 

Marinette sighed at loss of his warmth. Tikki immediately flew from where she hid and turned to face her master. 

“Marinette! The shoe!” 

She was shaken out of her trance and realized what the fairy meant. How strange that the shoe hadn’t lost its magic. 

“I thought all your magic wore off after the ball?” 

“It did,” Tikki squeaked. “At least, it should have. I haven’t felt anything being drained from me. I don’t think it’s my magic that’s keeping the transformation.” 

“What do you mean, Tikki? Does someone else have your magic?”

She shook her tiny head, and her entire body moved with it. “No, my magic is special. There are no others who are exactly like me, but there are others who have…” she weighed her words carefully, “similar magic. Complimentary magic.”

“Threes no need for riddles, Tikki. What do you mean?”

She sighed. “It is true there are no others exactly like me. I am the god representing good luck, and I have the power of creation. My abilities are abstract; even I don't understand them fully all the time. There are other gods who represent other… concepts. Where I represent good luck, others may represent controversy, strength, patience, and so on. There are hundreds of gods like me, who represent the different patterns of existence that have been created since the beginning of time.”

“How long have you been… alive?” Marinette wasn’t sure it was the right word to use. 

“I was created eons ago, long before man roamed the earth. Though my power existed long before me. Creation is the very fabric of existence, but my body as it is now doesn’t truly exist to anyone but you. I can form a body because of the power my wielder gives me, and I, in turn, give you mine. I’m dormant until that power is called upon; I don’t fully exist until you put my earrings on and summon me. But when I am called, I take on a physical body. And when you transform, I become what you create. I fold myself into the fabric of the dress you wear, just like my power, creation, exists in all things.”

“So I wear… you?”

“Exactly. I am able to manipulate matter into whatever form I choose.I took your clothes, your shoes, and your body, and I transformed it into what you saw at the ball.” Tikki took a breath. “What I don’t understand is… when the shoe was separated from me, the magical connection should have been interrupted, and it should have transformed back into the shoe Adrien gave you.”

“Then why is it still the slipper you made?”

“I think… I’m not sure, but I think, that there is another god like me nearby who has the similar power to sustain my magic.”

“There are gods like that who exist?”

“They are very rare. You must understand, there must be a balance. Strength and weakness, compassion and cruelty, creation and destruction. When I was created, so too was my counterpart. In most cases, the contrast exists within the kwami. Where strength exists, so too does weakness, and both are embodied within the god. But the power of creation is nothing like the others, and so its opposite, destruction, is embodied by another. It’s true that we go together, and when we go together, we create an unstoppable force.”

Marinette tried to understand. “So you have an opposite? And that’s why the shoe hasn’t gone back?”

“I believe so. I think Plagg, the god of destruction, exists close to the shoe, and his magic compliments mine in such a way that the shoe I created remains tethered to his power.”

“But… wouldn't the god have to be summoned in order for its magic to work like that? You said you only are able to… make things when you have the body that a wielder gives you.”

“That’s right. Without my master, without my body, I exist as a concept and nothing more. I chose you because you represent what is good. You are kind and generous, and you create without ulterior motive, just to create. That’s why I was drawn to you. And my opposite would chose someone who is similar to them. Someone who has faced destruction and heartbreak and has survived through it. So that must mean that Plagg has chosen a host that represents bad luck just as I represent good.”

“Who might that be?”

“That’s where I was unsure. I thought, perhaps it was a coincidence…”

“What?”

“My physical form represents that of a ladybug, which symbolizes good luck. And bad luck is represented by a black cat.”

“A cat?”

“Yes.”

“So that means…?” Tikki nodded. “That means that Chat Noir is like me. He was chosen by a kwami and he is… my opposite?”

“Your other half. Your soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT A SOULMATES AU AMIRITE LADIES


End file.
